A Blue Dove for the Princess
by Reis Nailo
Summary: The Razgriz Demon and the Princess it claims. Follow the path of the Twilight Squadron and their chaotic sky dance with the Four Wings of Sand Island. My past year's been tumultuous. Yet here it is finally, chapter 8!
1. Chapter 1

10

Author's Note: None of the content lying herein is truth, but pure fiction, any similarities to actual places, people, events, or organizations are fictional. All military ordinances are properties of their respective creators and industries. Ace Combat and it's storyline from The Unsung War and The Belkan War are not mine.

**1st Assault: Newbies and Aces**

"Dear, take care of yourself, you're about to be immersed into a world of duty, honor, and prestige mixed with suffering, self denial, and stress. Just remember to be yourself whenever you can be. You'll be fine, I know it. . ."

Those were the words Alizia Lavitze recalled as she stood before the admission committee on that bitter cold November night in the Fafnir military facility in Heierlark. She tried to suppress a shudder despite the warmth of her uniform.

The stark steel gray ensign's uniform freshly pressed and folded held a wool interior lining with wind resistant fibers on the outside. It looked sharp on her despite her petite frame. Taking a risky glance to her left and right she noticed that she was the second shortest in the row of freshly graduated commissioned officers from Osea.

They held no symbols of any named squads though they all knew that they might all be assigned as a new team altogether, as they were the largest cadet squad to ever graduate back in the city of Oured with twenty strong out of a class of fifty, nearly half of the original number. If she remembered correctly, the standard ratio was about ten percent; only five out of fifty, yet here they were 300 percent higher than the normal number of graduates.

It didn't really matter that she was only one out of seven girls in the group; she had proven her worth during the final tests, passing with the third highest point total in the whole class. She saw Kim, a southern sweetie from somewhere in the allied country of Ustio, standing nervously at attention while the headmaster looked her over for missing parts of the uniform. He nodded, approving her uniform and passed to one of the guys in the group as Kim nearly wilted in relief. She was always the cautious one in the group, never doing something unless it was in her favor or being left with no other options.

Next in line was Cyan Featherlight, a Cherokee from the plains who had joined them late in the training back home. He had been teased because he was the easiest to recognize in the sneaking simulations utilizing disguises, but what he had been weak at, he was now a pro as far as his classmates went. The ever vigilant yet quiet watchman, he had quickly been voted as the best spy, sniper, sneak or whatever, they assigned him as once they graduated.

In spite of his quiet nature, he was quite friendly and outgoing, willing to try anything new before saying that he didn't like it. He was the second tallest in the group, standing about five-eight even though he was eighteen and the oldest amongst the new graduates.

Kyle was next in line for inspection. The rowdy kid from the country was considered the crack shot in the party. He had grown up in mountain regions close to the Belkan border, hunting often with his father with the high powered revolvers they had. The inspector made some sort of comment at his longer than standard rusty red hair and mentioned something about a haircut in the future. Kyle only nodded, though his eyes were saying something against it. A nudge in the ribs brought her back to attention. She tensed, expecting to be reprimanded for not being in form.

None came. Glancing with just her eyes, she saw concerned look on a brown eyed youth's tanned face. Amillio, the only Spanish person in the team risked a small smile. She thanked him inaudibly. He was one of two trained computer experts in the group; the other one was an oriental named Kurando Ricdaeu. If they were to become a whole new team, as the administrators had been discussing earlier, then the two of them would become vitally important. The only strange thing about the two of them was that neither talked much.

Kurando's case was understandable, he was a mute. That didn't stop the team from understanding him though. Amillio's case was that he couldn't speak English fluently enough. He had gotten considerably better, but he was still shaky on certain terms and their multiple meanings. Kurando was the second oldest, also eighteen, but six months behind Featherlight.

Finally, her turn came up; the administrators looked at her intently. One of them was giving her a look that could kill if it was a weapon of any form. She swallowed visibly, but held her form, looking back at him, though not directly into his eyes. He was the first Ustio officer that she had seen outside of her own classmate Tsukiyomi, Kurando's long time girlfriend. His eyes held an amber tinge, and she felt as if he were looking her over like his next meal; but after an instant they filled with a strange mischief and playfulness, laughing though his face showed nothing of the sort.

His hair was golden red, contrasting with a deep navy blue formal uniform with a set of commander's stripes down both sleeves. The inspector seemed to be taking an eternity to finished inspecting her uniform when he stood straight and raised a hand as if to hit her. Everyone knew what he was about to do but no one moved as the hand came across her face. A loud crack resounded in the room, stopping everyone in the hangar. They had just gotten off the transporter when their inspector demanded an inspection of the new recruits. A loud voice resounded in the air just barely a second after she recovered from the abuse.

"Captain Renolds! Just what the hell are you doing? I do not recall ever allowing any officer, much less soldier to strike other military personnel. You had better have a damn good reason for doing so to a fresh recruit."

A rough looking oriental with wild, wind blown hair in a flight jumpsuit was approaching the line of graduates. Everyone in the room saluted, Alicia and her party were slow on the uptake. He waved his hand dismissively and everyone returned to their duties the best they could; anyone who had been slacking off before he came in got their bodies moving. Before their inspector, Captain Renolds could answer the one of the officers spoke up with a hint of mirth in his voice.

"Ah, I believe that the Captain here smelled perfume on the young girl. Its scent is weak though, put on in the early morning I surmise."

The man raised an eyebrow and looked sternly at Renolds; Alizia blushed a deep pink.

"You're lucky that I have a sortie to go on in a few minutes, otherwise I'd been giving you the once over myself. Let the girl have her vanity! There is nothing in the Code that prohibits the wearing of cologne or perfume so long as it isn't over powering for anyone on the base. Sheesh, you're like a plank of wood Renolds, not flexible, and that lack of resilience will get you and your men wounded or worse one day. You understand me Captain?"

Renolds nodded as he saluted and then continued with his self proclaimed inspection. After yelling at the Captain, he walked up to Alizia and she saluted to respect his position. He returned it and smiled apologetically.

"Young lady, I ask that you forgive him, he can be pain at times 2nd Lieutenant . . .?"

"Lavitze sir." She responded swiftly.

He smiled broadly as he extended his hand. She took it and they shook firmly.

"Then Lavitze it is. Good to have you and your class with us!"

He nodded short and crisp and left the way he came, walking over to the one of the fighter planes that had held her class in awe before they filed off the troop transport; a Y-F/A Katana-class multi-role aircraft; one of the only modified Sukoi Su-37 Terminator fighters in existence. A line of pilots saluted as a unit and relaxed as he started to give a briefing. The red haired officer came up to the class and grinned slyly.

"That is Brigadier General Reis Günter of the Ghost Eagle squadron. He is one of the most powerful people here even though the higher ups won't admit it. Their squadron is one of the ten most misunderstood units in the service of the U.O.A, but the most trusted by their superiors for their surreal combat records."

All of her fellow graduates nearly blanched. Several of them looked behind at the Commander to see him going over aerial combat maneuvers with a pair of fighter planes on small sticks, his squadron in rapt attention.

_That . . . is the famed Reis Günter? The one that defended the carrier Ruby Edge with only two fighters against two squadrons? _Alizia thought madly, _this is unbelievable! To think that we're stationed at the same location as one of the previous war's ace fighter pilots . . . I wonder what first-hand tales he can tell us?_

The flight briefing didn't last long as the pilots in the commander's unit fanned out and talked with each of their respective plane's maintenance crews. One of the fighter pilots began walking their way, and they all snapped to attention with a sharp salute, a Lieutenant Colonel's insignia was embroidered on her jumpsuit. She was a Yuktobanian with slightly reddish hair, and a sharp wit was in her voice as she addressed the newbies.

"Well, I see that the Captain has already taken a fancy to the lot of you."

All of the 2nd Lieutenants nodded silently. By looking at her, would never have known that she was in the military, and even if you could tell, not as a pilot. She was just too much of a beauty.

"Well, I hope to see and hear more of you guys in the future, if we make it back in one piece . . . man, why does he have to give me the trail position again?"

Glances were exchanged with that comment. The trail position? That meant that she would be in the very back of the squadron, being the first target for anyone who managed to sneak up behind the squadron. It was the most dangerous, but necessary and unavoidable positions in any squadron; in the air or on the ground. Another pilot approached from behind the Lieutenant Colonel, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he casually threw an abbreviated salute at them.

"Howdy," a thick semi-country drawl came from his throat. "So ya'll are them thar miracle class of newbies I take it?"

The man seemed nice enough, and maybe a bit too slack; as he had been napping on an empty munitions canister before Günter's entrance. His flight suit had only a slight bit of fringe hanging off of the sleeves and pant legs, giving it a sort of cowboy look. His hair was combed and sprayed back in a retro kind of fashion; reminiscent of the 1960's. The woman he hung off of groaned and pushed him off. Her flight suit was the same color of shadowed black and trimmed in gold like her southern wingman, only without the cowboy fringes. She did have a strange emblem on hers just below the eerie visage of a crimson-eyed eagle with a scythe in its talons; which served as the squadron's trademark alongside their uniforms.

It depicted a cloaked figure holding a swan necked flask. She grinned at the nuggets before she turned and went to her fighter; an F-2A Collaboration fighter. Alicia's eyebrows furrowed. The Ghost Eagle Squadron had been known for their AA sorties, but she was piloting a ground attack aircraft. Not that it looked like any F-16 Falcon she had seen before.

Its body frame was too streamlined and it looked as if the exterior hard points had been done away in exchange for an integrated SFFS weapons canister. Only a single verbal warning went out before she slapped her hands over her ears from the deafening roar of the fighters' engines whining and protesting their ignitions.

One by one the fighter squadron rolled out of their parked locations and came to a halt at the lift elevators which led up to the surface launch pads. The airbase was one of the cutting edge early warning scramble bases which could launch four squadrons at one time if they needed to. The brass behind them chuckled and demanded the attention of the twenty recruits and they all turned with a salute.

"Alright. I believe that Commander Günter wants all of you to come with me to the upper level control tower and see them take off. Consider it a welcoming gift from the Ghost Eagles themselves."

All of the newly graduated officers eagerly followed the officer to the elevators. As the doors shut and the lift activated, a sound transmission crackled over the intercom.

" . . . agle Five ready and waiting . . . Shadow flight Leader ready . . . all planes are ready for go . . ."

They came out of the lifts to see a massive set of screens. Each one showed the launch pads with the GE Squadron finishing their final prep checks. The aircrafts' gray bodices glared in the bright spotlights that dotted the airfield. Brightly dressed techs ran from the planes as each one's engines lit up in a hue of flames. Günter's voice resounded over the monitors as his visage appeared on the central screen. His helmet was decorated with two neural attachments.

"This is Commander Günter, all birds in the nest are green. Please proceed with countdown after all TCC's have been accounted for."

A transmissions tech to their right nodded and gave the okay as Günter continued talking to his fellow squad mates.

"All fighters, Bright Flight, Lambda formation take off; Shadow Flight, Starburst formation takeoff."

Alicia could hardly believe what she was seeing; an air show worthy formation takeoff from one of the most prestigious fighter squadrons themselves. Eight of the sixteen fighters rolled onto the launch pad one directly behind one another with blast shields behind each one as to not kill the plane behind it with the superheated jet exhaust. In the very front was the F-2A with its engines spewing a bright crimson yellow flame from its exhaust port. A new voice poured into the command post.

"This is Bright Flight leader, ready Lambda launch in thirty . . . and mark!"

The fighters, all of which Alicia now noticed, were also modified F-2A's, roared down the runway in a single file line before lifting off the runway. Half way through the shallow ascent, every other fighter in the flight flipped upside down. Half of the new recruits nearly freaked out. All eight fighters launched simultaneously just as the counter hit zero and began their climb. Just as they approached five hundred feet, the fighters switched positions. The ones who had launched upside down turned right side up and the others inverted.

As they reached the 1000ft. marker, the righted jets pulled up, increasing their pitch just as the inverted fighter planes passed underneath the one in front and just above the one in front, barely missing the other two planes by a person's height. The whole class stood flabbergasted, even some of the control staff had stopped what they were doing when the maneuver was finished. The Leader of Bright Flight's voice crackled over the intercom, her voice belonging to the woman they had met just before they deployed.

"Bright Flight leader to base. Moving out. Recruits . . . welcome to Fafnir Air Base!"

The young cadets couldn't help but smile, knowing that another show was about to occur before the whole squadron met up and continued with their real mission. Günter's voice came over the speakers again.

"Alright, alright!! Well done Bright Flight, now it's our turn to outdo you guys." A choir of groans and mild challenges were exchanged between squad members. The red haired beauty piped up.

"Okay Commander, if you're going to outdo us. Hmm. I want to see the Major run the gauntlet of Starburst Formation this time around."

Hesitant words were quickly heard throughout the control room and over the com systems of the pilots. Silence hung in the air for a clean minute before Günter came back on line.

"Major, fly the gauntlet of the formation, do you copy?" a quiet voice was heard through the silent room.

"Sir, I'm not ready for that position yet." Irritation filled the Commander's voice.

"Do I have to make that an order? You've passed the simulated run and dry run seven consecutive times flawlessly. If you don't have the confidence, I don't need you in my squadron, do you understand me?"

A large amount of force could be felt in those words. A silent double click was the only response before a lone Terminator still on the ground launched ahead of the final seven aircraft. An officer in the control room started yelling into his microphone.

"Commander! Don't make him do this . . . the last thing fresh recruits need to see is the death of a comrade during a show-off presentation of your squadron!"

Nods followed across the room.

"Cut the crap Captain!" was the bitter reply. Everyone was shocked at his language.

"They'll see death in the face on the battlefront, which by the way . . . is NOT when they need to be feelin' sorry and sick to their stomachs about this line of military work. Killing is part of war. So sit your lazy no-blood-spilling ass down and let me handle MY squadron! I am not making him do this without knowing full well his abilities. It's just that he's too damn shy!"

Alicia had heard nothing about this side of the ace fighter pilot. But then again, it made some sense; an ace couldn't be a goody-goody nice guy and get to his position and reputation for survival rates among sorties flown. Any softy would have died in the previous war, which had been violent enough.

The pilot took off, a lone jet stream in the rising dawn sun. Aircraft from the rest of the flight proceeded down the runway and took off, each one heading to a different position on the imaginary clock. As the Major flew down across the airfield in a flyby, the rest of the formation dove in on one another. He would have to make it past every fighter while performing a continuous aerial roll. The exhaust flames would then ignite the phosphorous gas left behind each of the other planes.

It had been known to take the life of inexperienced pilots who didn't know what they were getting into. As the fighters closed in on one another, the Major began his rolls. He'd have to pass seven planes. The first one passed, then the second and third. For three intense seconds the recruits and control tower staff were silent. As he passed the sixth, everyone blinked. The seventh fighter wasn't there, but was flying straight at the Major who had just ceased his rolls.

"Not bad Major! Now here's the hard part." The Commander's voice rang throughout the com systems.

The lead plane then passed the Major just above and inverted as he traveled down the path he just flew down. The explosions from the vapors were still raging. Everyone in the room panicked, but could do nothing as the fighter rolled through each flaming inferno. Passing the last one, the plane held itself sideways, giving the newbies a look at the top of the Katana fighter. It held their eyes in awe; the fighter was spewing flames that gave off the illusion of a firebird. The flames died out to reveal a relatively unscathed fighter with its cooling exhausts active. Cries of awe went around the room. The formation realigned itself with its leader as the intercom crackled to life.

"Hey! No one passed out I hope. Welcome recruits! That, was a new formation stunt we've been planning at the Major's insisting. He calls it the Neo Starburst Phoenix . . . we like it well enough! Shadow flight . . . is moving out."

Half of the top brass in the room cursed under their breath. The officer with them laughed heartily.

"It appears that Günter and his infamous squadron has topped the most dangerous stunt record again! He'll never get tired of making the top brass mad. Actually, the Major is a Lieutenant Colonel, the rank name is just a fun title they use because of an old incident with a visiting unit from Ustio; and he is the other pilot Günter flew beside during the Ruby Edge incident."

Everyone among the new recruits gaped. The colonel who had been cussed out laughed. He appeared to be around his mid-twenties. Laying his headset aside, he approached the new members and smiled.

"Sorry about that, it's a little joke that we put on for all the new members in the base. Kind of like a ritual if you look at it that way. My name is Luca Marris"

Various answers crossed the air. Most were curses under their breath. The colonel scratched the back of his head before putting on a serious face.

"However, the commander is correct that if you aren't ready to see and confront death, then you shouldn't be here. We have the lowest losses of the Western Front bases, but we still run the risk of losing people every month. It's not something that isn't unknown; in fact, everyone here knows each other quite well. Naturally as a result, practically everyone also knows everyone that has been injured, or died on a mission. We are a close knit base; like a surrogate family due to the base's size. So get use to it quick."


	2. Chapter 2

9

**Disclaimer was mentioned in Chapter 1**

**Chapter 2: Testing**

Four hours, it was four hours before the official coronation of the Twilight squadron of Osea. Half of the parents and family there were in tears and Günter was consoling as many as he could without making the moment worse. One father had cursed his very existence in the military; being thrown out shortly afterwards as the ace pilot was recovering from the struggle that had started, his wife profusely apologizing to everyone. It had been a shameful, biased hatred with no logic at all.

"I don't care about your stupid 'consoling' Commander! My son died under your watch and I demand some reconciliation. And damn you to hell if I don't get it! I'll have you drilled out if you say one more thing trying to make my wife feel better!"

Günter had lost his cool then.

"Mr. Avery . . . like you can! God forsaken blowhard!! Do you forget your place? You dishonor your son in speaking this way in front of his peers and fellow members of an elite military force of Osea! He died for his beliefs and was every bit more the man than you are right now. I'll respect that request of not saying anything more, but not before this."

His hands were resting on his arms which were crossed in front of his chest.

"You are not the only family here suffering. Now stop your emotional outbursts or I will have you thrown off of this facility."

His voice was an ice chilled blade; his brown eyes drilled into Mr. Avery's. The man looked like his top was about to explode. An asian pilot who had been in the tragic air battle two days before brought Günter a drink and bowed to Mrs. Avery, but not her husband. Her tears had stopped and red rims had formed around almond eyes; she forced a sad smile as she returned it.

Mr. Avery lost it at that point and lunged at Günter; catching him off guard. After a one-sided fistfight, the Japanese pilot had pried the madman off of the commander and gotten guards to remove him from the building. Mrs. Avery had apologized again and then left to join her husband. Günter had never thrown a return punch, but none of his assailant's fists had gotten through. The sleeves of his uniform were torn and bruises could be seen under them, but not a spot on his body was ruffled.

He had shown the perfect defense with his blocking. He apologized to everyone in the room before he left to switch uniforms. All of the Twilight pilots were conversing quietly with their parents, introducing and explaining meetings and friendships that had developed since their arrival at Fafnir. Alice's parents were talking with Kim and her mother was smiling. Her mind wandered away from their conversation.

One half of the class members had died in a sudden air raid from the hostile country of Rhedaria. They had been out on a standard training exercise in the air alongside the Ghost Eagle squadron on evasive maneuvers when the radios crackled to life with the sounds of panic and klaxons. The class still remembered it clearly as if they were there once again.

Flashback 

"Alert! Repeat! Red Alert!! Ghost Eagle squadron do you read?"

Marris' voice was tense but under control compared to the background noise. Günter's voice rang clear.

"Go ahead Control. What in blazes is going on?"

The flashes of crimson red and charcoal black smoke dotted the horizon. The double V formation of Katana class Terminators and F-20 Tigershark trainers were five minutes away from the base.

"We're under an air raid! They're unknown fighter bombers with fighter escort! We can't confirm numbers and are unable to launch additional aircraft due to runway damages. Reinforcements from the Sand Island base to the south with arrive in ten minutes."

The commander wasn't happy with the ETA. His voice was filled with minor frustration and impatience.

"What do you mean 'ten minutes'? That's far too long! Come on . . . ya got to be kidding me! We're babysitting nuggets up here!"

Several of the Ghost Eagle pilots voiced a unanimous agreement. The new squadron, dubbed "Twilight" by many of the base's staff after seeing the artwork Alicia during her free time; had little flight experience and where in the middle of advanced pilot training. They were being trained by the some of the literal best the country had to offer. But everyone knew that eighteen fighters couldn't protect every single one of twenty new pilots.

Günter was going over the statistics with Luca over a private frequency while chatter floated around the two squads.

"Aw, c'mon man! You've got to be kidding me. An air raid now? I was just getting the hang of this plane too!"

Kyle's voice was easily picked out from the rest of the more quiet voices of the Ghost Eagles. Two of the Katana class fighters increased their thrust to come equal with Günter's. All three of the aircraft were sporting a NAG, or Neural Assault Grid on their fighters. It was quite something to behold in the air. Each one of the fighters had a standard payload of 24,000 lbs. of arms on the external weapon hard points. The Grids themselves added two additional hard points to the underside of the wings with mid range AA missiles. The one difference in the grid was the long blade like protrusions on the forefronts of their wings.

It was impressive, but no one but the tech crews and the pilots themselves knew what they were. They couldn't be canards; the plane wouldn't have been credible with more than one pair of canards. Günter had been tight lipped about the new weapon, along side his two wingmen.

The red haired Lieutenant Colonel Eleanor hadn't even hinted at her new weapon's addition until early that morning during flight prep. The other pilot had been the Major, L. C. Vincent had not accepted the additional missile grid, but a different one with modified extended back blade like appendages. Whether that was a statement of ability or not, was between the two aces Günter and Vincent, whose planes had the same wing structure. Time seemed to stand still as the fighter pilots waited for orders to attack or stand down.

Suddenly systems in the cockpits began lighting up like a Christmas tree. Everyone suddenly saw their IFF's flash weapons hot from Günter, Eleanor, and Vincent's pilot blips. Vincent's voice brought everything back to reality.

"Ghost Eagles, protect the nuggets while the three of use head in to engage the bandits, should any come your way, you are to have the rookies go high and engage at your discretion while keeping them from becoming targets. Is that understood?"

There wasn't any need for a response as the rest of the squadron began a shallow increase in altitude. A number of the Twilights groaned. Günter had been driving them into the ground over basic and advanced fighter maneuvering since day one. Eleanor's voice cut through the muddled chatter.

"Don't worry, I'll record the battle with the cameras on my plane and then we'll go over the points you've learned today, but no complaints about not warning you ahead of time . . ." her voice suddenly went sullen and distant. "It's going to be gruesome, slapping you in the face with the harsh reality of war."

The three fighter planes' afterburners opened up, spewing flames like a volcano. Three minutes after the teams lost visual sight of them, their radios crackled to life. Günter, Eleanor, and Vincent were all screaming, relaying everything to each other while ground control was giving vectors and numbers. It sounded like hell.

"Indigo, climb . . . climb damn it girl!"

"Günter . . . nice kill! Nice kill!"

"Section A's hangers are ablaze, where the hell are the fire crews?"

" . . . all dead, they're all dead!! My God!"

". . . ck! When the hell'd he get behind me?"

"Missile! Break! Break!!"

"12 high, on six, at three, they're all over the place!"

"How'd they get this far inland?"

"What the crap was the radar team doing?"

All of the slanders, yelling, and horrors over the radio were accompanied by the sounds of gun fire, missiles, explosions, aircraft engines, alert sirens, and IFF beeps. The Twilight team couldn't stand listening anymore and most had shut down their communications link on the open frequency. Back on the private squadron frequency, several of the pilots threw opinions around the air.

"Good God . . . is that really what it's like to be a fighter pilot?" one of the younger members though aloud.

Several questions like it swiftly followed, waiting for one of their instructors to explain. When none came, a feminine voice entered the conversations.

"Kurando thinks so. It's humbling isn't it? To think that so many forces think that it's safe in the skies when fighting. It isn't; in the skies you can't hide behind trees or under brush, you're out in the open with nothing but you and your instincts. It's frightening."

Many of the pilots nodded in silent agreement even though no one could really see each other in their cockpits. Tsukiyomi and Kurando had been paired together in a dual seated F-20 T Shark because of his speech impairment. She was his voice and he was her pilot. The two had swiftly adjusted to compensate for their handicap and Günter had been very impressed with their results. The solemn silence was broken when one of the Ghost Eagles began to sharply increase altitude.

"All Twilight pilots, increase altitude to Angel Eight and standby for new instructions, Captain Rhymes, call sign Rooster will be with you guys while we take care of some fleeing rats."

Affirmations burst over the radio receivers as fifteen planes climbed to the specified altitude. Most of the class could fly well, while the others became weapons and navigations officers due to the numerous requirements a pilot had to meet. No one had objected and most were grateful, but it was still nerve racking for the G.E. squadron.

Several specks of gray appeared on the horizon, speeding ever closer to the experienced pilots. The fighters had spread themselves out in clusters of three and were activating their respective TCC's. The Tactical Combat Cameras as they had been dubbed had the capability of independently recording all of the fighters maneuvers via the targeting data from the HUD system in each one's assigned fighter; coupled with satellite imaging. It was highly advanced surveillance which had been introduced to the base only months prior to the new recruits' arrivals.

Each fighter was capable of linking six to its targeting computer, but due to the funding needed in order to maintain that number, three was the limit. As the fighters passed by each other below, gun fire and missile shots ripped the air as voices echoed each pilot's thoughts. Rooster had led the new squadron up above Angel 8 to meet with an AWACS aircraft even higher up. It was flanked by two silhouettes, which he voiced his concern as he continued to climb.

"Twilight Squadron, stay at Angel 8. White Tail, you have squadron control."

"I have squadron control Rooster. What's wrong?" Tsukiyomi asked as Kurando pulled their fighter into the led position. The Katana fighter pilot never responded as his fighter suddenly became a mass of flying debris.

Several of the young members never had a chance to scream before they swiftly joined Rooster as disintegrated flesh and molten slag. The whole squadron went into a frenzy of panicked voices, but no one pulled into one another.

"All fighters! Decrease altitude and rejoin the G.E. Squad now!"

Alicia screamed. She was looking everywhere, trying to find the attacker before she became its next target. A vapor trail shot between her and Kyle's fighter from above as he jinked sharply to the right. Most of the pilots' nose dived and plummeted through the clouds to the more seasoned unit below.

Three of the pilots, Kyle, Kurando and Tsuki, and Luc had formed up into the delta formation and pulled up to meet their attackers. She couldn't look as she disappeared in the clouds below.

Fighters crisscrossed and darted underneath her as she came out and into the fray of bullets and missiles from the retreating enemy and the G.E.'s. One of the new pilots was hysteric, screamed at the top of his lungs what had happened above when he caught a missile in the back, flames danced in his cockpit as he screamed. The small fighter fell to pieces wreathed in flames before the fuel tank lit and went up in crimson. Three of the G.E. members were no longer in the air by her count; which didn't include Captain Rhymes. Kim's voice rang through her headset, filled with urgency and fear.

"Alice break left!!" her body reacted without thinking.

She gripped the piloting stick as she traversed left and then back in a flash; horizontally spinning the trainer on its side and left in a hard banking turn. White vapor trailed from her previous position followed by an unusual fighter bursting into flames after the canopy was ripped full of machine gun holes. An F-20 flashed by a moment later.

"Thanks Kim . . . I owe you one."

Her fighter rolled in on Kim's right wingtip as they arched back over the engagement zone. Tracers could be seen all across the sky and every last pilot was pushing themselves to their limits. She lost count of explosions, only keeping track of Kim's fighter and keeping her alive as a wingman. Seconds seemed like minutes and minutes like hours as evasive and aggressive flight maneuvers were repeated endlessly.

As the final bandit trailed smoke and flames, the two squadrons formed up on one another. Counts were taken and the results had been grim. Ten of the recruits had been killed and five had bailed out sometime during the dogfight. Rescue choppers were on the horizon, escorted by the three lead planes of G.E. Squadron.

Tsukiyomi and the other two pilots that had engaged their surprise attackers had returned in relatively good condition. Kyle complained about his paint job, but was sound. Luc had bullets lining his right wing, but was still in the air. Tsuki had passed out and Kurando was using his signal lamps to flash out messages. Günter's voice was light compared to the mood everyone else had.

"Congratulations Twilights. You've survived your first air battle. I must say, I thought I wasn't going to see you guys anymore. Incredible job pilots."

"How can you say that?" Alicia yelled over the intercom. "We've just lost a lot of our friends and their families were supposed to come to the official coronation in two days!"

The commander's voice in return was sullen.

"I understand you and your friends' pains. It's not fun, it's ugly and malicious. I am talking about the pilots you were flying against. With who they were, I really was thinking that I'd be writing all of your families death notices."

His voice stressed the 'all'.

"Half of my pilots remaining would readily agree and understand what I'm saying."

A series of agreements went around the Katana fighters. One of the younger pilots spoke up in Reis' defense.

"Yeah, in the middle of the conflict, I saw the emblem that they had emblazoned on their planes. It was the Spectre squadron of the Yukes right?"

Murmurs passed Alicia's ears as her minded raced. That squadron had been long time rivals of the Ghost Eagles during the Belkan War and had been known for the same sortie records. Rumors had placed Günter with the Spectres before he had become an officer in the Osean Air Forces. True, they all had fought on the same side, but competition between the two had been fierce.

No one knew why he had quit such a prestigious squadron, but they knew that it began with the Ruby Edge incident nearly four years ago. A question formed on her lips but the dryness from all of the tension and fear of death moments before robbed her of her words. Günter made a pass on everyone's cockpits before he took the lead position of a drastically smaller double V formation.

"Twilight 1, 5, 15, and 20 go in first and in that order and get yourselves to medical bay immediately, there's no telling what injuries or worse you may have received in that firefight. Ghosts 3, 10, and 12 head in after them followed by the Twilight Halos after that. Injured first, then the ones who are relatively unscathed, that's the rule."

Alicia then understood just why he was such a great pilot. His love not just for what he was a part of, but those who took part in it as well. Marris had been right; it was like a surrogate family far from home. He was looking out for others before himself, and hadn't received his rank unjustly; he had earned it from his fellow soldiers.

End Flashback 

"Hey, are you alright Alicia?"

Kim's voice startled her and she flushed, embarrassed to be caught in her reverie. Her friend had a frown on her face; she had been concerned for Alicia after her rough landing that night. Most of the guys were furious at their losses and the three girls Alicia, Kim, and Tsuki were the only ones left in the group. Giving her friend a sad smile, she nodded and together they went looking for Tsukiyomi and Kurando.

The young couple was talking with their families and Tsuki waved them over once she saw the pair. She had the largest family there due to her heritage. Six other siblings were gathered around her, some older most younger. Kurando and his father were talking to Tsuki's parents when a microphone's screech turned everyone's attention to the stage. Günter had returned and was at the podium. He cleared his throat before addressing the families and military attending.

"I formally welcome you all to this coronation tonight. As you well know, tragedy fell on his base two days ago."

Some of the recruits were holding back tears, others had broken down, and silent tears fell.

"Parents, I wish to offer you my thanks once again for supporting your sons and daughters in their endeavors, they would not have made it here if not for your love and support. For those of you who have lost loved ones, there is not enough that I can do to help you through that pain."

His voice was professional, but his eyes said far more than his words did. He felt personally responsible for them, and his eyes showed the quiet sadness of a soldier who had been through this speech too many times.

"I ask that you recruits do not see this as a just a low point, saying that it is not is crude and demeaning. Look at this as a call to improve yourselves and strive to become better so this is not repeated."

Nods went around the room from the recruits and some of the parents alike.

"I see this as a challenge and it is in troubled times such as this that tests the true fortitude of a soldier. Rise to the occasion and answer it with confidence. This will be your testing period."

Kim and Alicia grinned despite the somber mood. Günter truly was a great man, not just a soldier; and they were proud to know him as a superior and as a friend. They would get through this, and pass these tests of life with a new resolve. But their commander had a new surprise for five of them that no one saw coming, and a dark secret that wouldn't be known until much later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Assault 3: Dark Trial and Revelation **

After the coronation of the Twilight squadron, Alicia was saying goodbye to Frederick and Francine Lavitze, her father and mother. Just as they were about to depart the base, a voice behind her made the 2nd Lieutenant jump. An apologetic Günter stood behind her with a smile on his face.

"Sorry to startle you Lavitze. Are these your parents?" he waved to her mother and father as they came back after hearing his voice.

Frederick and Francine looked like they were more at ease around the battle grizzled commander than stiff and formal. She took note of that in her mind.

"Yes sir, they are. Haven't you met them yet?"

A negative sound escaped his throat before he stepped forward and shook hands with her father and nodded politely to her mother. He smiled broadly, his teeth shined in the dim light. Most of the families had left an hour before and the Lavitze family had stayed longer than anyone.

She was shocked to see the commander step back and salute her father, who returned it with a crisp formality only a military officer could perform. Her parents laughed lightly with her superior when they noticed her gaping stare. She blushed and mentally scolded herself for being caught.

"I'm sorry Alice," her father said, taking her in a brief fatherly hug. "I never told you, but Günter here was a good friend of ours during the last war."

Alicia was taken back. Her parents had never said anything about their involvement in the war. They had greatly disliked it, but they had never said that they had participated in it actively. To think that they knew the ace of the previous war was nearly impossible. Günter's voice broke the silence.

"I was very surprised to see the daughter of my former superiors to appear here at Fafnir under my supervision. It feels quite strange Major General Lavitze."

Alice could feel her mother behind her as she stumbled backwards. It was all too much for her mind. Her father had been a man of that high standing in the military ground forces?

"Yes, I suspected you would guess who she was once I discovered who her superior commander at Fafnir was. I too admit my shock in finding that you were assigned to Fafnir as a squadron commander. May I ask what made you come here to this snow cone of a base?" a smirk formed on their faces.

"You know as well as I do."

"I guess you're right. I never congratulated you on your promotions after the Bloody Ruby massacre though." Günter had a pained expression, not wanting to remember.

"Thank you, but I don't wish to recall that battle. We lost too many men and women in that pointless skirmish. That was the battle that convinced you to retire early and leave things to the younger soldiers like me and Vincent. I know your wife probably doesn't want to remember that either Lavitze."

Francine smiled and nodded her head. Frederick sighed heavily.

"Yes, that was tragic. But it was the turning point of the war. Please Reis, as a friend and fellow officer, teach Alicia what I couldn't."

The Asian pilot nodded solemnly as they shook hands again. Once Reis had turned and left the family, Alicia's parents said their final farewells and drove away, the red car leading them back to the airport for their flight back to United Isles of Northern America. She thought about what her father and Reis had said just before they parted ways.

'Teach her what I couldn't?'

Shaking her head to clear her mind, the pilot went back inside. The intercom crackled to life.

"Ghost Eagle squadron report to the briefing rooms immediately. Ghost Eagle squadron report to the briefing rooms."

The monotone female announcer recording ended with a click. Shrugging her shoulders, she continued to her room and opened the door. The room was slightly small, but comfortable. A plush couch sat against the side wall opposite a bunk bed with an oak desk set next to the window directly across from the door. A laptop computer was on the desk along with a lamp with shade and a small fire safe. The shower was running in their private side bathroom.

Her roommate had died during the firefight and Kim had been moved to share the room so she wouldn't get lonely. Tsuki had been transferred to one of the Ghost Eagle's female pilots to share a room. She had to admit that she was kind of jealous. Major Rachel's private room was large enough to fit five, and filled with all sorts of trinkets from around the world.

Alicia plopped onto the couch and turned the radio on. It only played FM stations, but she preferred the music broadcasts to information scandals any day. They were in the middle of her favorite song by a group called "The Revolutionaries" when the bath door slid open. Kim stepped out, an oversized towel was wrapped around her and the long chestnut hair was up in a ponytail, still wet. She smiled and walked behind a small privacy curtain as she changed. Alicia turned the radio down when the wall vibrated from a neighbors banging. Kim laughed.

"Looks like Luc is studying again, otherwise he wouldn't mind the music that loud."

The other CO pouted. Luc had been a book worm in his spare time. He could recall information he read nearly verbatim and at a glance could memorize lists of information. He was one of few people who had a photographic memory anymore.

"I guess so, but please! He needs to mellow out a little."

The two girls started talking about happier topics, their friends back home, childhood memories, and secret crushes. In the briefing room three floors above them, the conversations were anything but joyful.

"Flight Commander Reis Günter, you are charged with failing to responsibly deal with the protection of the Twilight squadron as of 53 hours ago at 01:30 hours. 2nd Lieutenant Joseph Avery was reported KIA during the raid of Fafnir Air Base during an air battle against unidentified intruders within Osea's airspace. Where were you during this time?" a military general sat behind a pulpit with a gavel.

The Ghost Eagle squad was struggling to keep its composure as their leading officer was on the stand. A civilian lawyer who Mr. Avery had brought back shortly after being kicked out of the base; had gone right up to Günter as he was entering the base and demanded a trial. The top brass didn't like the idea but had gone ahead with it anyway to appease Mr. Avery. They knew that his reputation would save him from any serious fines, but this still went down on the official records as a breach of conduct.

Most were infuriated and some hadn't shown up on purpose. Günter knew why and held his men in even higher regard because of it. They knew themselves too well and those who hadn't shown up would have beaten the lawyer and Mr. Avery up before the trial even got under way. In many ways, they were lessening the troubles he already had to go through; he thanked the heavens for them. Clearing his throat, his voice echoed off of the silent room's walls.

"As of 01:30 hours 53 hours ago, I was leading my men of the Ghost Eagles and the recruits making up the E-F-801st Twilight squadron through advanced combat maneuvering at location Delta-Tango 3 at altitude Angel 3 when Captain Marris of communications informed our squadrons of the air raid by the unknowns."

"After discussing our course of action with my second and third in command Lieutenant Colonels Eleanor and Vincent, we detached from the main force and proceeded back to base to confront the enemy forces. I left leaving fifteen pilots of the G.E. squadron to protect the Twilights with explicit instructions to increase altitude and protect the CO's if any bandits made their way to their area of operations."

The lawyer took his opportunity.

"So you left the squadrons, effectively abandoning them to . . ."

"Objection General! The Ghost Eagles are an elite fighting force. They were not abandoned and would not have been left if they were not thought capable of standing on their own!"

The general, an older gentleman in his late fifties, held up a hand to quiet the defense. He looked sternly at the lawyer.

"Sustained Corporal. Rephrase your statement or don't say it at all Mr. Landers."

He frowned at the situation he was in. Here was a hero of one of the bloodiest conflicts in history under trial because one dumb ass civilian can't understand the simplest aspect of war . . . death no matter who or what you were. He had known the oriental fighter pilot since his training days and had kept in light contact with him over the years and knew just how much the man cared for his fellow soldiers.

He was suffering enough with his own squadron's losses without the new recruits deaths.

"Yes sir. To skip ahead, this voice recording was found and has proof of your lack of leadership . . ."

Every last one of the military members perked up, and Reis wasn't happy.

"Hold on a damn minute!" his fists slamming into the podium, scaring the lawyer and all of the civilians in attendance as his eyes seemed to light with a demonic fire.

"A voice recording?! That tears it! General McCallister; arrest these men for trying to fraud me!"

Three guards had restrained Günter, but made no attempt to stop his words, for they rang true. Mrs. Avery had paled as she realized just what her husband had tried to do. She jerked away from him like the plague. McCallister was at a loss for words. It was inconceivable that a civilian had the gall to try and fraud a soldier of such high standing.

What made it even more sickening though; was the sheer stupidity of both men to say that they had military hardware to prove their accusations when civilians were not allowed under any circumstances to handle such items, much less identify what they were from wreckage. Such items were military secrets known only by the industries that made them and the crews that worked on them. He understood every bit of Günter's fury and felt the same.

Yet he was passive in his approaches to Günter's proactive one. The same anger and fury mixed with shame and pity shined in every military personnel in the room. Knowing he had to alleviate some of the emotions and calm an infuriated commander down, he stood up and slammed the gavel down hard several times to quiet the room.

"Guards, remove these two men from my presence. Flight Commander Günter, I want you to leave as well." He paused a moment. "In separate room from those two for the obvious reasons."

Some of the military personnel, who knew Günter's habits, chuckled despite the dour atmosphere. After the selected people had been removed from the makeshift courtroom, the general turned to the civilians in the room. Faces ranging from confusion to disdain met his gaze. The old soldier sighed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would explain to you now the reasons for Commander Günter's anger and why I have removed those men from this room."

He leaned back in the chair that had been provided for him.

"Military hardware, whether it be a piece of sheet metal or a nuclear warhead for example is not to be touched, or more appropriately; handled by non-military personnel for safety and confidentiality. Had a member of this base brought the item as evidence that would have been perfectly just. However, the tragedy which occurred two days ago happened over the Celsius Straights. I do not think I need to go over just how cold those waters get at this time of year."

Nods went around the room from everyone there. The Celsius Straights had received its name due to the location on the globe; which lied above the 45 degree axis lying within the sub-zero climate of the Artic Circle. The sea floor below the freezing waters was nearly a mile down, too far for any normal craft to handle. McCallister continued steadily.

"Know that if he really did find this before it sunk below the surface, what could he have been doing their to begin with? He surely would have heard and definitely seen the battle overhead and seen the chaos that goes with war. That in and of itself would render this case pointless and a waste of your good time."

The crowd began to murmur their agreement with the superior officer. They had been dragged away from warm homes and loving families for this? So one man could try and flaunt his 'power'? One man stood up.

"I understand and see where this is heading sir. I think I mean well to say that we all do." He spoke looking around for confirmation which was generously being given. "We wish to leave Mr. Günter a message giving him our support and apologies that he had to go through this. May we leave now? Our families are waiting in your base's main lounge."

The general nodded and watched as the crowd filed out of the room before calling Mr. Avery, Mr. Landers, and Günter back into the room. Mrs. Avery sat silently, her pale features worrying some of those left in the room. It looked like she would faint at any given moment. Eleanor walked to her and offered to help her out of the room. She gratefully accepted and leaned heavily upon the younger woman for support. As they walked past Günter, he stopped the two, whispered something to Eleanor and bowed deeply to the older woman before they left. He felt sorrow for the woman for the loss of her son and now possibly much more. The general stayed silent for a minute before he spoke; weighing every word carefully.

"Brigadier General Reis Günter of the 777th Tactical Fighter Wing." the grizzled the Major General began.

Worried looks went around the room from all the military personnel. McCallister had just used Günter's Air Force rank in Osea. The asian's eyes narrowed wickedly awaiting the sentence. He chuckled lightly, unnerving the two civilians. They had known how charismatic he was, but had never known just how powerful he was in the official military world.

The Air Force's NATO ranking placed the rank of Brigadier General four ranks away from being in charge of the whole armed air forces for a country. No one knew that he had served in the Air Force while rising as high as he had.

Already such a high ranking officer at the age of thirty-nine, most people would scoff and mock the military decisions about such a young General. No one in the non-military circles knew just how much Günter had been through in the last war and even more undercover operations. Most missions had been so filled with death and loss that he had earned a nickname which only the most privy to information would ever discover, and he wasn't about to start making it known.

He dared to venture that until now, no one in the room except McCallister himself knew just how high he had risen in the rankings.

The two frauds found themselves between hell and worse looking into the eyes of not a man, but a monster. Behind the deep brown irises of the leader of the Ghost Eagle squadron laid a dark and foreboding fire that was insatiable and untamed by any man. What they didn't see after the sentence had been passed was the disappointed sadness toward two men who couldn't accept a simple truth.

He walked up to the make shift podium as McCallister came down. Shaking hands, Günter couldn't help but voice his suspicions.

"General, I have a question that must be answered out of good interest for this base and possibly the security of Osea itself." The old man nodded, waiting for his junior to continue.

"If they really did find a voice recorder that was legitimate, it makes me wonder just how they got their hands on it. It disturbs me to think that such a prominent squadron from the Yuktobanian forces would attack unprovoked. A darker plot is stirring and I'd like permission to investigate and possibly stop it before it spreads too far and we have another Intercontinental war."

A chill ran down everyone's neck. Günter had a knack for thinking far ahead to prevent as much blood shed in a battle as possible while still coming out with all mission objectives completed. Some people said that he thought too deep while others said that he could do better and think even further. This new revelation was frightening and unfortunately a very real situation.

A grim silence covered the room as McCallister nodded and Reis Günter left the room with a firm resolve in his eyes once again. The truth had to be found before all hell broke loose.


	4. Chapter 4

**Assault 4: Son of a Demon**

Alicia and Kim stepped outside of their rooms after hearing Rachel outside. What they saw surprised them. Rachel had long lavender hair worn down with a few braids that draped down the middle of her back amidst the long flowing hair as well as on either side of her face.

She wore a long, ankle length black one piece evening dress with a single slit on the right side which ran up to her mid-thigh. A single gold necklace dangled from her neck and two sapphire earrings glimmered in the lighting. She looked dazzling.

"Hello Major," Alicia couldn't talk straight and Kim had lost all words. "May . . . may I ask what you need?"

Rachel laughed lightly realizing what just happened. Two recruits walk out of their rooms expecting a military uniform, not an evening lady.

"It's nothing important. Relax; Tsuki wants to see you in my room while I'm out. Feel free to look, but please don't touch, a lot of my things are fragile."

The two younger women were confused, was she going out on a date?

The young woman turned and proceeded down the hall to one of the elevators. A soft chime heralded the arrival of the lift and Rachel stepped inside after a quick wave. Not knowing what to make of the opportunity, the girls left their room to meet Tsuki. They wore casual civilian dress during the off time and wanted to look around the base some more. It was a lot bigger than the outside seemed and ran underground.

Rounding the corner, Kim collided roughly with a taller person. She would have fallen on the floor if a pair of hands hadn't grabbed her shoulders, effectively steadying her. After seeing who she had bumped into her face nearly turned a cherry red. It was Günter and another woman they didn't recognize.

He was dressed in a formal suit of black and deep maroon that made his eyes stand out. The woman was similarly dressed. It looked like they were going into town to paint it red. Was every one in the Ghost Eagle squadron going out tonight?

"Hey ladies, where's the fire? Slow down a bit." He joked lightly.

The younger cadets had found a new interest in the tiling on the floor. It was hard to believe that the ace pilot of the previous war was this laid back. Of course, he was dead serious while on duty, as there was no room for relaxing on a battlefield. Off the fighting grounds it was hard to tell he was even in the military.

The two younger women nodded and swiftly left the couple as they continued to search for Tsuki's new room. The woman smiled behind them as they disappeared around a corner. The fighter pilot looked at her as she quietly laughed, taking in her beauty. She was only a month younger than him, and he loved her more than life itself. Their son's existence proved that.

"Those two remind me of our son when he joined the military."

"I know, though I do have to disagree with the fact that he was only sixteen when he joined the military. I admit I'm still slightly shocked by it. He's already a pretty damned impressive pilot."

She nudged him in the side with an elbow, making him jerk reflexively.

"Our son has your skills and my cunning my love. But those two girls seem to have the right stuff for this line of work."

Remembering that tragic dogfight, Günter had to admit that the testimonies he had heard about them from his squadron members had surprised him. Of all the fighters that had engaged them while he was busy at the base, six had fallen between the two of them. In truth, Alicia only had one more kill to make before becoming a technical 'ace'. Four kills in the first bloodshed they'd ever see was unprecedented. He nodded in agreement.

Wrapping his arm around her waist as she half yelped in surprise, he planted a fervent kiss on her lips before grinning at her flustered facial expression.

"Well, right now it's time to forget about my work for one evening and go out for the night. You did want to see the theater presentation of that childhood book of yours didn't you?"

"A Blue Dove for the Princess? Of course! Is that what you got me?"

He fished through his pocket and presented the two tickets to her. She smiled with excitement as she kissed him.

Alicia and Kim finally found the Ghost Eagle pilot's room and knocked on the door tentatively before Tsukiyomi's voice came through the heavy steel door.

As she opened the door for her friends they couldn't help but look around in surprise. There was just so much stuff around the whole room. It was no small wonder Rachel had told them to be careful. Four bookshelves covered the western wall, the doorway faced south. Only two of them were holding books and magazines, mostly news articles from the previous war and the tentative peace that followed.

The other shelves presented delicate porcelain dolls dressed in fashions from around the world and each one from a different historical age. A few were dressed up in the latest fashions and showed just how diverse the world still was. One of the dolls caught Kim's eye as she pointed it out to Alicia. Tsuki had already seen the resemblance and didn't say anything, though she suppressed her amusement in the other two girls' surprise.

One of the dolls had long violet hair and wore a long single piece dress of black satin. Her neck held a gold necklace with sparkling earrings. She looked exactly like Rachel right down to the facial features. Searching for an answer to their mutual question, a small calling card at the base glittered in gold calligraphy.

_To the love of my life, _

_I had my father craft this one especially for you. We know how much you like our family's handiwork and God knows how much my family teases me for being so smitten with you. I hope we can go to that theater play that your superior's wife wanted the squad to go see. What was it? A Blue Dove for the Princess? Mr. Günter told me to keep it secret from his wife. Anyway, we're all seated in different parts of the theater, but I managed to snag us seats beside each other. See you in a week at the theater. _

_P.S. I'd really like it if you wore what your miniature self is wearing._

_Love,_

_Mark Heinrich_

The two friends looked from the note to each other as Rachel popped into their heads from moments before. Both of them smiled and looked back at the note and doll with romantic thoughts in their minds. Tsuki saw it coming before they both opened their mouths at the same time.

"Awwwwwww . . ."

(Meanwhile on Sand Island)

"Hey Bartlett."

"What is it Pops? This had better be damn good. Top brass is giving me shit again."

The older man laughed, his voice carried in the large hanger bay. The sound of planes landing on the runway signaled them that their new pilots had just arrived, twenty strong and ready to undergo a more rigorous combat training regiment.

As the flight of F-5E Tiger II's were taxiing into their positions on the open flight parade grounds, the two pilots of the Belkan War couldn't help but notice that the last fighter hadn't arrived yet. The roar of an engine above them prompted their eyes to look upward. The two men could hardly believe their eyes as a Fighting Falcon oriented itself for a landing.

As the fighter plane landed and began its taxi, several of the nuggets could be heard muttering 'show off' and other derogatory terms. A few however, clearly admired this particular pilot, obviously more skilled than a pilot trainee since they'd given him a Falcon.

"Bartlett, I don't think that's a Lieutenant in that bird."

"Why's that?"

"Don't you recognize the design difference? The Block 60 model was scraped a year after the Belkan War remember?"

As the pilot of the aircraft opened the canopy and dismounted from his plane, Bartlett could tell that this was going to be rough. The pilot looked no older than his very early twenties, maybe even late teens. What struck the grizzled captain the hardest was his rank insignia . . . a Captain.

An O-3, meaning he wasn't just a commissioned officer; he was either some higher ups' son, a freaking genius, or had gone through the ROTC program back at November City's "Hell Camp" as they put it. If he'd gone through that, well, he'd have to say the kid earned that rank. He was willing to bet that his skill was up there too if he'd gone through Hell Camp.

As the nuggets were all forming into rank and file formation as he approached, the Captain turned and gave a crisp salute, his eyes steady and Bartlett could see something in his eyes that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Are you these nuggets acting CO?"

A sharp salute surprised him as the younger man stood there, salute still in place as he spoke.

"No sir Captain. I'm here as ordered by McNealy Air Force Base as an assistant instructor and aide de camp Captain Bartlett."

Returning the salute, the younger officer moved to a relaxed at ease position; something that Bartlett noticed immediately.

'So, he's been through Hell Camp. His crisp formality and respectful at ease sure show that was drilled into him.'

"What's your name Captain?"

"Call sign Blaze, I'll tell you my name later sir. Colonel on deck."

All nuggets present drew themselves to attention and saluted as Blaze did. Bartlett turned and half nodded in acknowledgement to the 'Emperor'. A frown formed on Perault's brow immediately. He knew he'd get chewed out latter for 'setting a bad example' but he didn't care. The fat man could just roll over and die for all he cared.

The Colonel walked over to the F-16 Block 60 and looked from it to Blaze and back again. Stepping back toward Blaze, he looked at him as if he was some kind of foreign object. A few of the nuggets didn't like that scrutinizing look over Captain Blaze. If he was doing that to Blaze, then they couldn't imagine what their inspection would be like.

"So Captain, do you think you're pretty hot stuff coming here to my base with a fighter that outclasses all the others here?"

Blaze immediately knew that he would never like Perault. He really didn't like many of his superiors. He guessed it came from his father's blood. He only respected those who earned it. So far, this chubby Colonel hadn't done squat.

"No sir."

"Oh, really? Why's that Captain? Would you care to elaborate for me?"

"In combat sir, only approximately 40 percent of a pilot's effectiveness comes from the aircraft he flies. The majority comes from the mechanics, experience, and resolve of those fighting sir."

"Don't get smart with me Captain. Otherwise, you'll stay one with Captain Bartlett here."

Perault walked off as he pulled out a cigar from his pocket. Everyone could here him muttering under his breath. Falling out of attention status, Blaze half glared at the fat man. This was going to be one long tour of duty.

"Well, I can see that this is off to just a fine start. Blaze, I like your resolve, you've got a lot more guts than most of the other meat sacks around this place. If you want to, go and have a look around the base. Pops over there will show ya around while I go over the introductions with these nuggets."

"Don't be too harsh Captain; God knows that Colonel already put some of these pilots on edge. Especially that one over there."

Blaze nodded his head at the young woman still half staring at the door that Colonel Perault had gone through. Her face was slightly pale. Short neckline length black hair framed a delicate face. The nugget seemed overly introspective. Bartlett was about to go over and reassure her of the Colonel's hot air complex when Blaze beat him to it.

"2nd Lieutenant Kei Nagase, you still flying in the clouds?"

His voice was official and formal, but everyone could here the joking nature in it and most of the pilots chuckled as she half started and stared at Blaze like he was some dream. The two captains sighed as Blaze went over to her and gave her a pat on the shoulders.

"Don't think too much about the Colonel, I've already decided to make his life hell whenever he gets on your case, or any other pilot's for that matter. Pilots stick to each other like glue in the air and on the ground. That doesn't change regardless of conditions, right men?"

"Yes sir!"

A small smile found its way onto her face.

"Thanks Captain."

"I think that'll be her new call sign for me."

"Pardon Captain?"

The pilots looked over at Bartlett who was grinning ear to ear.

"Nagase, from now on, I'm calling you Edge."

Blaze starting laughing as he shrugged his shoulders at the confused woman. The rest of the nuggets relaxed a bit as they began to realize that these two officers were nothing like anything they'd ever encountered during their academy days. Some of the pilots began to rethink their opinions of Blaze.

Several of them had scoffed when he had shown up to escort them to Sand Island. His duty bound honor had been the cause of some harsh rebuffs during their in flight chatter during the transit from the mainland. For one, he didn't allow anyone to make sexist or racist comments over the radio even in jest. The racist they could understand, he was half Osean, half Ustio. The sexist part was thought to have been favoritism as Nagase was the only woman in the squadron. Now they saw that it just wasn't like that.

Nodding once, Blaze turned things over to Bartlett as he walked over to where Pops was standing. The two men shook hands firmly as Beagle began to show the younger pilot around the base. To Blaze's surprise, a black Labrador came running over and began to sniff at his boots, searching for a treat or trying to identify the newcomer.

"Kirk! Get back here you crazy dog!"

The loud voice made several of the new pilots turn to look at the on coming soldier. Bartlett could be seen shaking his head. The black lab turned its head around as he sat down in front of Pops. A tall man with brown hair jogged up to him, there was a slight panting in his breathing. Looking up to see who was accompanying Beagle, he half groaned as he stood up to salute Blaze.

"Geez, another Captain? Now who do I follow?"

Blaze chuckled as he sensed the man's problem with high ranking officers and his joking nature. After the meeting with the Colonel though, he couldn't really blame him. Reaching down, her rubbed Kirk behind the ears.

"That's alright Lieutenant. You don't have to salute me unless its official business. As for who you follow, it's still Bartlett."

The pilot smiled openly and held his hand out. He knew immediately that he liked this guy, even if he did look a lot younger than him. Any officer who didn't care about all the formality unless it was called for was spades in his book.

"Great! Well, I'm 2nd Lieutenant Alvin H. Davenport. What's yours?"

The two pilots shook hands.

"The name's Patrick, call sign Blaze."

"Alright, but what's your last name? Don't you have one?"

"My last name's a touchy subject for the military 2nd Lieutenant. Many speculations go around my father and so it's best to just let it be. I'll tell some day though, that I promise. For now though, all you need to know was that he was a demon from the Belkan War, and that he flew for Ustio."

Bartlett and Pops quickly threw each other wary glances. Blaze's choice of words hadn't slipped by their ears. Of course, Blaze wanted to keep it under wraps for now, but was he really the son of who they thought he was?

The rest of that day had gone by with relative ease for Blaze, though the advanced maintenance class for the nuggets could have gone better when one of them dropped the monkey wrench down the upper hatch of one of the F-5's. Pops had a fit over the fact that they'd have to take the plane apart to find it. The nugget responsible was pretty embarrassed.

He noticed that Davenport, who wanted to be called Chopper, had been with the Sand Island pilots for a little over two years. He was friendly and did a lot to ease the nerves of many of the nuggets. The only downside to that was that he was so open and out going, that his voice grated your nerves after about the first fifteen minutes.

Once or twice Chopper had tried to get him to spill the beans about his father, but Bartlett finally stopped that. Nagase noticed that his father and name were sensitive subjects. Why would he be so protective of it though?

'He isn't the son of some criminal or traitor is he?'

Silently, she hoped her thought were wrong. He was nice and understanding in his own way. He relaxed around Bartlett and was surprised to see how mature he was for such a young pilot, much less a Captain in his own right. She wanted to know more about him. She was twenty-three, but she didn't know his exact age, he just looked so young.

Later, after night had fallen on Sand Island and Bartlett couldn't find the Captain in his quarters or in the pilot's lounge, Pops rounded the hallway corner with a cup of coffee in his hands.

"Hey, you haven't seen that kid anywhere have you?"

"I think I saw him head off to the hangars. He seemed pretty attached to that Block 60. I know what you're thinking Bartlett, but do you think it's a good time to ask him?"

Bartlett nodded once as he spun on his heel toward the hangars. The Block 60 had been stored in the southern most hangar at Perault's orders. His excuse had been that there wasn't any spare room with all of the F-5E Tigers that had arrived. That hadn't necessarily been wrong, but Heartbreak One's hangar with the spare plane had ample spare room.

Entering the old single fighter hangar, the men heard rock music coming from the main section where the Block 60 was. The smell of paint permeated from the same direction. The words from the song echoed through the hangar and Bartlett was briefly reminded of his days during the war and how Chopper liked his music.

_In a silent second you can hear a flower growing in the wind, but does it reach you when there's darkness all around? _

_How many days will this go on? How many thoughts can I assess? Why do we come apart? Watch it all go down . . ._

_Take me away, I can't deny it, and all that I want is to touch the sky! Show me the way, a simple mind, and no one can say it can't be done!_

_I see you shining on the sun, a road that leads beyond this place, a way to push aside the walls that block our path . . ._

_If time can truly be a lie, there's nothing left but you and I, denying everything and shattering the glass . . . _

_Take me away, I can't deny it, and all that I want is to touch the sky! Show me the way, a simple mind, and no one can say it can't be done!_

_Out of mind, out of time, all alone stuck at home, can't decide from the pride, I want it all. Look to me, only me, far away everyday, vanity, vanity, I want it all . . . _

As the music began an instrumental section, the two men entered to see Blaze on top of the plane with something draped over the rear of the plane, an ink/paint spray gun in his hand as he nodded his head to the music. The rear vertical stabilizer had a stencil over it as he let a short stream of paint cover the exposed portion of the plane.

_Simple minds . . . separation . . . let me be . . . set me free . . . _

_Take me away, I can't deny it, and all that I want is to touch the sky! Show me the way, a simple mind, and no one can say it can't be done!_

_Take me away . . . take me away . . . take me away . . . take me away . . . _

As the song died out, the track changed to a slower rock melody as Blaze set the paint dispenser aside and looked down at the ground where Pops and Bartlett were.

"Oh, Captain, what are you guys doing here this late?"

"The same could go for you kid."

"I was busy with all the tour of duty paperwork when I got this fighter and I hadn't had time to give it the design I wanted. So here I am during my free time."

As he removed the stencil, the two war aces froze. There on the tail, glared a yellow and orange emblem of a dog strangling a chain in its maul. The words were no longer on the circle framing the emblem, but the design was no mistake. Pops felt the coffee in his hand drop as he remembered the one target lock he never was able to break.

The battle of B7R, The Round Table. The fighter pilot feared and respected by all, Galm 1, Cipher: The Demon of the Round Table. The legendary mercenary of the Belkan War alongside Solo Wing Pixy; both left their legacy across the skies.

"You two look like you've seen a ghost Heartbreak One."

His voice snapped them out of the war memories. Blaze sat with his right leg dangling from the back of the forward wing, his left elbow resting on his left knee while cradling his chin. A small smile spread across the pilot's face.

"Do you realize what you've just put on your fighter kid?"

"I do, but do you understand what it means to me Captain?"

Blaze pushed himself off the wing and walked over to the cd player. Turning the music off, he returned to his plane.

"Cipher, the Demon of the Round Table during the Belkan War, has been my icon for as long as I can remember. My mother would often shake her head whenever she found me reading all the old news articles and official reports about him."

Patrick looked up at the emblem he just finished. He could feel the two men's eyes on him, waiting for him to continue.

"It wasn't like she didn't approve or anything, in fact, she encouraged me to read them. I felt like I was flying right beside him. Father was never home, in fact I only met my father after I turned five, and it was a year after the war was declared over."

"I wanted to yell and scream at him for not being home with mom and me. I really didn't know how we survived, mom never worked."

The two pilots looked at each other, perplexed.

"She was a stay-at-home mom with you and no job?"

The younger pilot nodded once.

"Most nights, she'd be up talking with some man over the phone, laughing, crying, and flirting. Man, sometimes I really wish I hadn't listened in on some of her conversations. On more than one occasion it got a little too intimate for my ears."

An embarrassed smirk crossed their faces at the innuendo.

"Regardless, when he finally walked through the door one night, I nearly snapped. Mom had gone without father for over four years. The war only lasted about one and a half years. So where had my father been? I wanted him out and not to come near her, I had screamed that at him until she came in the room and hit me with her book. It was the only time other than discipline that she smacked me."

"She walked up to him and planted a kiss on his lips and said a simple phrase to tell me who my father was. She said, 'Welcome home, Galm 1.'"

The silence in the hangar was almost suffocating, the heavy air of his confession made Bartlett and Beagle mindful of their words.

"How did you take it?"

"I went ballistic, in a good way though. Imagine my surprise. My father was the legendary pilot I'd been reading about all throughout the war. When I asked him why he hadn't come home, he told me all about the V2 project and A World with no Boundaries. He told me that he'd been visiting some of the pilots he shot down over the time of that war. Most of them are doing rather well, though I can bet that most of them wish he hadn't suddenly just showed up and said hi."

The three of them laughed at that picture. Most of the pilots had probably fainted or freaked out when he met them. Peter Beagle felt better knowing that such a terrifying pilot in the skies was such a down to earth man on the ground. It only helped to affirm the rumors about his mercy to the retreating and meek were true. A Knight Ace as they called them back then.

It was good to hear that the man had a son and was living happily. Suddenly, the thought of Blaze's mother at home with a child and no income made perfect sense. Cipher had been sending his mercenary pay back home to his wife and son, though no one knew it. The man's reputation raised itself greatly in the two men's eyes.

Now they knew just who they were dealing with, the son of a compassionate demon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Assault 5: New Wings and Lost Birds**

The training period for the Twilight Squadron was over and many of the class were anxiously waiting in the assembly hall. The auditorium was unique, as it was also the hangar bay for the new squadron. The middle of the floor was painted in the squadron emblem, a setting sun with a four man formation blazing across the sky. The words of 801st Tactical Fighter Squadron: Twilight was imprinted on the small banner shaped post at the bottom of the emblem.

The dress uniforms were of navy blue coloration, and each had a single golden stripe on the outside of each pant leg. A few of the pilots no longer had the rank insignia of a 2nd Lieutenant, but of a 1st Lieutenant. Out of those that remained, only three held the proud rank of a Captain. Three months of grueling fighter maneuver training had seen the best and worst of moments with the young pilots. Günter had been an instructor from the pits of hell.

No one in the squadron had any real complaints though, as they all knew that the hours in the cockpits would save them during any real battles they would face. Many families of the pilots and friends were in attendance that day. Even some of the parents who'd lost their sons and daughters that one tragic day were there.

None of the other Ghost Eagle Squadron members in there, most of them had been allowed temporary leave for the week. Reis and his two assistant officers were in full dress uniform; their military sabers held red tassels at the pommel. It was an outward sign of their station as both instructors and superior officers.

Rumors had been going around that Günter had obtained information regarding a possible attack from Yuktobania. McCallister had taken the Brigadier General's warning very seriously and set the base on a low level yellow alert. No one knew how he had garnered such information, but no one questioned it. The tragedy that befell the base once didn't want to be repeated, so the yellow alert status wasn't protested by anyone.

The unique feature of the bay was, like the Ghost Eagle squadron's hangar, it was located under the base. A good quarter mile of earth separated them from the surface. The base had been constructed during the days of the Belkan War, in fear of a nuclear strike shortly after the seven explosions went off at the Waldreich Mountains.

Günter stood at the center of the hangar bay with the Twilights in their rank and file formation. The parents and audience further back were seated in the make shift stands that had been rigged the day before.

"All pilots of the Twilight Squadron, attention!"

All the members snapped to formal presentation as the audience grew quiet. Günter stepped forward and smiled once before beginning.

"Today marks the day of your graduation from mere training wings to full fledged pilots. I am proud to have trained you and ingrained these disciplines into each and every one of you. Three months ago I asked you all to rise to the challenge and carry on. You have all done that and earned my respect and trust as officers in the Air Force."

"To all in attendance today, these young men and women are the hope and force that will guard our country from hostile intrusion, and strike out against all who would try and destroy the peace and freedoms our citizens enjoy. I know many of you are proud to see them all accomplish such a monumental task at such young ages, and they have earned it."

The Brigadier General walked over to the squadron emblem emblazoned across the floor. He seemed to stare at it, thinking, reflecting on some distant memory. His voice was clear and reverent.

"To those who give their lives for the country men that they will never see, I salute you."

The crisp salute he gave while looking down on that emblem caused all in uniform to salute. Vincent and Eleanor had drawn sabers and gave their salutes with the blades in traditional attention status. It was a sight that the audience wouldn't soon forget. The squadron was at full attention in two columns of three, and a column of four in the middle. The Twilight symbol was flanked in a triangle by Günter, Vincent, and Eleanor. The General was on the far side, while the others were closer, sabers drawn, like guardians watching over the fallen birds.

A solemn reverence reigned over the hangar bay at the remembrance of that tragic day that started the Twilight's true training regiment. Releasing the salute and formal attention stance, the rest followed suite simultaneously. His voice became commanding again as he stepped back into three man formation with a renewed smile on his face.

"Now, you are all hereby officially christened the Twilight Squadron. However, F-20 Tigersharks will not cut it as a frontline fighter between western Belka, Osea, and Yuktobania. I know our President's arms reduction has left us with little firepower; however, that does not stop us from acquiring planes. I'd like to present you all with your new wings."

The giant rising doors began their automated rise as electromagnetic platforms rolled out of them. The pilots were stunned to silence as nine fighter craft stopped in their stations in groups of three, one flight on the left and right and the last one in the center behind Günter.

To their right was a black F-16XL with golden stripes down the spine of the craft. Flanking it on both sides was a pair of F-2A Collaborations with the same paint job. To their left was a trio of naval Rafale M fighter planes with their YF paint schemes of experimental white and red. The trio in the middle was the flight that caught everyone's attention.

Eurofighter Typhoons with a fading paint scheme of white nosecones to the color scheme of a fire fading into a smoky charcoal black.

"A flight of fighters dedicated to the ground attack role, one for the air, and one to be the balanced go-between during sorties. Look them over yourselves to get used to being around them. In flight demonstrations for the higher ups from the central stations are waiting ladies and gentlemen. You have until . . ."

". . . noon to get your asses in those metal birds, now move it nuggets!"

Bartlett was anxious as always before going up. Baker and Svenson stood behind him shaking their heads. The nuggets assigned to go up that day included not only 2nd Lieutenant Nagase, but Captain Patrick "Blaze" as well. None of the three pilots said anything, but they knew that the young pilot was in an uproar.

When Colonel Perault's orders came down to his hangar earlier that morning, the kid had nearly flipped his lid. The thought of training armed nuggets in F-5E's was nerve racking as it was, but to know that his F-16 would be both without missiles and running Winchester, their slang for no ammunition in the gun, was mind blowing. True, it was technically peace time, but the possibility for an attack was not impossible, getting caught was one thing, getting caught unarmed was entirely unacceptable.

The squadron had launched at noon on the dot. Blaze lifted off the runway last, his Block 60 screaming with its afterburner to catch up to the rest of the aircraft. The man behind Bartlett fiddled with his camera while trying to get a good picture of the nuggets behind them.

Albert Genette was an unexpected and for the most part, unwelcome surprise over the past four days. Bartlett didn't really seem to care that the reporter was there to ask him questions and prod at his career. Blaze on the other hand had been uncannily suspicious. Pops couldn't really blame the kid though, knowing full well who his father was.

When Genette had found Blaze was a Captain at his age, which had been revealed reluctantly during lunch, he had pummeled him with so many questions that Blaze had lost his appetite. Everyone in the mess hall could only stand or sit and stare. Patrick, a Captain in the OADF, was only nineteen.

Today, during this training session, he would turn twenty. Nagase, who'd been sitting next to him during lunch that day had been so shocked at his age that she'd dropped the sandwich she was eating. Sure, she was young too, but she was three years older than he was.

She looked over her shoulder at his F-16 as it took trailing position behind and to her right. The plane looked lonely without any armaments. He had his dark tinted glare visor down over his helmet face shield. The pilot shifted his gaze before throwing her a mock salute as she chuckled at his antics. She appreciated his efforts to calm her nerves while they were practicing. He did it for all the nuggets and everyone felt a certain understanding of him. He was strict and kind and the same time, his training had been far more rigorous by the way he flew. His fighter almost seemed to bend to his will; it was a beautiful thing to watch.

"Hey, Kid, get up on my wing will ya?"

"You were referring to me sir?"

"Yeah, you Blaze; Genette says he wanted to see your plane since you wouldn't let him into your hangar."

"Roger, all nuggets, stay in formation, I'm coming through."

Nagase didn't really understand his orders until he suddenly crossed overhead with a quick aerial roll as he passed over her fighter. As he finished the roll and descended to her altitude, the afterburner kicked in as he accelerated between Svenson and Baker with a swift half roll, completely inverting as he passed over Heartbreak One.

He kept his position there, even as Bartlett yelled at him for dangerous maneuvers. Svenson and Baker could be heard laughing over the radio as all the nuggets were giving their 'oohs' and 'ahs'. The Phantom II and the Falcon B60 were like something out of an air show, with Blaze flying upside down above Bartlett.

"Captain . . ."

"What is it Genette?"

"That Captain's plane emblem. Is that what I think it is?"

The Galm squadron emblem had caused quite a stir among the base's inhabitants, especially the 'Emperor' and the nuggets, who'd all heard the stories of the infamous Galm squadron leader. It was rumored that Mobius 1 of Usea and the Demon of the Round Table were equals in skill, though no one knew just how much of that was true.

"Yeah, it's what you think it is. Don't you dare release that kind of information though."

"Why's that Captain? Shouldn't the people know of this? That we have such a great pilot helping us?"

"Listen to Heartbreak One you reporter."

Blaze's voice was stern as he rolled out of the inverted formation and took the wing man position to the right of the Phantom.

"I don't need publicity, that kind of thing destroys pilots like me. I liked the design of the old dissolved squadron and took it. I don't want a legacy like that to die out. In these times of peace, pilots like him are needed in case war breaks out again. I'll bet you anything he's waiting for another outbreak to happen."

The beep of an incoming communication prompted Blaze to go silent. Bartlett flipped the receiver switch as Genette pondered the pilot's words.

'This kid has to have the deepest philosophy of anyone I've seen before. He doesn't have that painted on to look impressive, but as a memorial to the past. I guess there's a lot more to pilots than meets the eye.'

"You are the only ones close enough to make the intercept."

The control room officer's voice snapped Genette out of his thoughts long enough for him to get the basics of the conversation. He had no time to ask what was going on as Bartlett suddenly changed his vector. The unexpected G forces shoved him back in the RIO seat.

"Dammit, fine then! Baker and Svenson, stick to my tail like glue while we hunt down these leakers. Kid, take the nuggets low and keep them out of the fight."

"Understood Heartbreak One. All nuggets descend to one thousand feet and hold at Tango-Zulu eight-nine-eight."

Confirmations began to pour in over the comm. line as Tiger II's began to peel off and drop altitude. Blaze accelerated past the Phantom before pulling off a reverse Cuban Eight. The plane dove after the descending Tigers as the three other pilots formed up to engage the incoming bandits.

All the nuggets could be heard over the comm. frequency. Their voices began to grate on Blaze's nerves.

"Cut the chatter nuggets. You'll paint yourselves as targets."

The radio went silent as Bartlett's voice could be heard over the squadron frequency. Svenson and Baker sounded just as dumbfounded as Bartlett. The three instructors repeated the request for vector confirmation from headquarters. The hailing beep on the F-16's radar caught Blaze's attention as he glanced back at the beckoning displays.

"What the hell?"

On his radar, ten caution yellow blips in a double wing formation were fast approaching the nuggets from a completely different axis. To his horror, the blips went form neutral yellow to hostile red on the IFF as his missile warning alarms sounded. All he could do was break off into a steep dive as he saw several sets of blips lance out from the enemy fighters.

"Going inverted and flaring!! All nuggets break hard, we're being engaged! Bartlett, get back here, we're under fire! XLAA's! XLAA's!"

The inverted Falcon set off a series of magnesium/potassium heat flares as it descended toward the sea below. The water vapors from the extreme G forces looked like feathers of light as the Falcon nose dived. Only one of the tigers copied the maneuver as the rest of them broke formation. Most broke hard left or right while one pulled up to increase his altitude.

Blaze watched at the blips closed in, the missiles ripping through the air like a pack of hungry wolves for the kill.

"Damn it all, they're not going to make it . . ."

Explosions rocked the air they flew in as the long range multiple launch missiles shredded past the trainees. Four of the fighters erupted into golden yellow and red fireballs. One had its one of its wings torn off and sent into a flat spin. The canopy blew off and the pilot could be seen ejecting. They wouldn't find out until later that the centrifugal force had snapped his neck in two during the ejection.

"Only two nuggets remaining in the first wave. Damn it all, who's trailing me?"

The Falcon and Tiger continued to dive at the water, the altitude alerts blaring as he pulled back on the stick, completing the inverted half loop. The two fighters leveled out at three hundred feet as they speed across the ocean.

"2nd Lieutenant Nagase, sir."

"Roger, stick to me."

A double click on the comm. gave him his answer as he pulled up to engage the bandits. Silently began racing through his fighter training back from Hell Camp. The OPAM drilled into his mind during the academy days streaked through his mind at breakneck pace. Observe, predict, assess, and maneuver, those were the steps of OPAM. He already knew this battle wouldn't end favorably, and most of the nuggets would probably die, but he vowed that these fighter pilots wouldn't make it home to brag about it.

Looking high for the bandits, he saw eight Mig 29 Fulcrums wiz by the remaining Tigers. Two Su 25 Flankers closed in on the stragglers as the others began to double back. Racing to climb back to the nuggets' altitude, Blaze began to cycle through his targets. His mind began to run through the statistics on both the Fulcrums and the Flankers. True, the Flankers held higher performance and a more modern combat system, but the Fulcrum fighters held both the numbers and a quicker response time due to their simplicity.

The words of Cipher, the Demon of the Round Table, his own father came back to him. He had been talking during one of the few dinners he was able to come home for after the Belkan War.

"Patrick, speed is life while you're in the skies."

"You mean how fast you fly? But all fighters go fast."

The mercenary laughed and patted his son on the shoulder.

"That is something, but I mean the speed of response. The ability to read the battlefield and feel your allies and opponents, formulate a strategy and execute it. The speed you can influence the battlefield will grant life to those who side with you. So the performance of the fighter means little in the hands of the inexperienced."

"This is Blaze, Edge, trail my six, we're engaging the Fulcrums until Bartlett and the others arrive."

Edge had a hard time understanding his choice of targets. The F-16 broke off his tailing position on the Flankers and began to fly headlong at the eight Fulcrums. She hesitated for a brief second before following.

A number of the Fulcrums began to break off into pairs and split formation. One of the pairs seemed a second or two sluggish in their formation break and Blaze jumped on the opportunity. Nagase began to follow up on his maneuver as Blaze began to pick up the back wing man.

The F-16 Block 60 could be seen with its afterburners at full thrust. The pursuing aircraft weaved between the two targets while staying behind at gun range. The movements of the aggressor pilots were jerky and anxious. Edge was having a tough time comprehending Blazes actions. At the speed he was going, he'd drastically overshoot his targets.

"Edge, go weapons hot and prepare sidewinders."

"R, roger Blaze."

The Falcon went into a knife edge flight as it blew between the two fighters. The pilots panicked as the fighter flew past. The two men banked hard in opposite directions. One of the Migs shuddered heavily as the plane changed into a hard end over end flat spin as it dove to the waters below. The other fighter began to tail Blaze as Edge brought him up into her sights. The tracking beeps on the HUD ticked off at their timed intervals as the box began to close on the fighter pursuing Blaze.

Somewhere in her headset she heard him confirm the other fighter plane literally splashed.

She found her breathing becoming heavy, the milliseconds seemed like minutes as the box crept ever closer to the target. Her palms felt sweaty, her mind began racing over what she was going to do. This was no drill, a few of her friends had just died, but the enemies were people too weren't they? Her hands trembled as she maneuvered the fighter into shooting position.

The aiming reticule went solid; its tone hummed its eerie haunting tune, the small 'shoot' reminder popped up under the box which glowed a faint red. The lock continued even as the pilot began his evasive maneuvers.

"Edge, what are you doing, I'm Winchester on guns and missiles up here! Fire, I repeat fire!"

"But he's . . ."

"I know he's a living person Edge, but so am I! I'm locked!"

She tapped the trigger and the missile rocketed off its wing pylon. The high tech arrow speared the fighter as it erupted into flames.

"Edge splashed one, we've got a chute."

The woman sighed in relief; blood was not on her hands this time. Blaze was already gunning it for the next pair of Fulcrums. She hastily corrected her trajectory and closed back on the Falcon's wing.

"Hey Kid, we're back, leave the Fulcrums to us, go get the Flankers, they're cooking the nugget for dinner."

"Blaze roger, going hunting Heartbreak One. Edge, form up on me."

"Understood."

The two fighters roared off to face the other air superiority fighters. Something inside the two of them didn't sit right as they closed the gap between them. The symbols on the vertical stabilizers were Yuktobanian, so why were these fighters attacking them? Blaze stopped his thoughts as one of the nuggets tried desperately to evade the pursuing fighters.

"Blaze, I need help, they're on my six!"

The Captain couldn't respond as two AMRAAM mid range missiles slammed into the Tiger, shredding it into molten slag. The pilot didn't even get a chance to scream as the debris fell from the sky. He could hear Nagase choking back her tears. He felt something inside him snap as he pushed the throttle to the red zone.

The two Flanker pilots were too busy jeering over the easy kills to notice the Falcon behind them closing in at its maximum velocity. Putting the fighter through a harsh four point roll, Blaze stopped the rotation at the inverted position while pulling the stick back, bringing the bird into a steep inverted dive to the deck. The Flanker pilots screamed as the Mach 1.8 fighter plummeted between the two, the supersonic shockwave generated by the plane made the Yuke fighters shudder violently.

Edge could hardly take in what she was seeing. The Fighting Falcon's velocity had knocked the Flankers around with so much air turbulence, that the vacuum effect of the sudden air distortion drew the two Yuktobanian aircraft into each other, sending a golden fireball across the sky.

"Blaze, splash two."

Baker could be heard before his fighter became static with fire and bullets. The pilots knew he didn't make it. Several more fireballs followed in the fur ball before all became quieted engine roars. Only Heartbreak One and Svenson formed up on the two fighters on their new flight path. The fighters each did an underpass to check for damages while flying home.

"Svenson, you've got severe scorching on the underside. Try going to dirty configuration."

The plane shuddered and slowed as the landing gear lowered from their underside storage compartments. The sight looked hopeless as the landing gear wavered and teetered in the wind.

"Svenson, I highly recommend bailing out and letting this bird retire."

"Thanks Blaze, but I think I've got it."

"Do you know what you're saying? The landing gear won't hold, don't waste the effort and risk your neck over this."

The instructor cut the radio as he zeroed in for the landing. Blaze and the rest were tense as the Tiger landed. All seemed to be alright up until the very end when the landing gear gave out and the plane hit the runway. The fighter skidded along the ground for several meters before finally stopping. The pilot got out and stood on the wing waving up at them.

The three pilots in the sky sighed in relief as they circled overhead. The relief was short lived when an explosion on the runway rocked the fighters with the shockwave. Svenson's plane was burning wreckage, the body of the instructor lay several yards away, smoke billowing from the corpse.

Maintenance would find latter that the fuel tanks had leaked during the slide and a spark had set the fuel burning, the last gas tank had detonated and sent Svenson in a burning heap to the skies.

"Damn it Svenson."

Heartbreak One cursed mildly over the radio. Edge knew Blaze had to be doing the same thing. After one more circle overhead, the two Captains let her land first, followed closely by Blaze and Heartbreak One. The Colonel would want a report, though the two of them would prefer to yell at the control room for false information.

Leaping from the canopy, Blaze walked over to Edge's plane, the woman was pale and silent. He could hear Genette spouting off praises about her flying. He had never wanted to hit someone so bad in his lifetime than now. He had witnessed deaths today, and he wanted to talk about the lone survivor's skill?

"Nagase! You keep flying like that and someone's going to stick a missile up your tail."

"I, I won't die sir."

The two pilots could hear him mumble something else before turning and walking back to give his report. Walking over to her, he placed a calming hand on her shoulder. She looked back at him with mixed emotions racing through her eyes. He'd seen this look before during skirmishes up north two years ago when he first began dogfighting.

Edge felt like a complete wreck, her mind could stop the images of fireballs and screams from her fellow wingmen. It had all happened so fast, yet so slow as time seemed to take an eternity to pass by. Blaze looked at her with a concerned question in his facial features, she simply gave him a reassuring nod before he left to follow after Bartlett. God knows she respected them for the constant bickering from that pudgy faced Colonel.

Genette had the camera raised when she glanced his way. The woman smiled slightly, knowing what he was doing. The camera whirred and then clicked as the shutter went off. She knew the camera would be confiscated after the battle, so she didn't mind the spotlight that badly. What disturbed her the most was Blaze's flying. Sure he had said that he wanted to keep the Galm squadron legacy alive, but his flying ability was already leagues beyond anything she'd thought she would see. Today he'd splashed three aircraft without any munitions.

This wasn't going to be easy to get used to.

"To say you're flying the skies to protect is one thing. Doing it is another thing altogether."

She whispered these words as she stared up at the gulls that constantly annoyed the island air base. Bartlett's words came back to her and she grimaced. She knew exactly what he meant by 'flying like that'. She'd been lost in moral thought during an air battle. Any later and Blaze might not have been there in the skies with them. Realization that he didn't just mean her now jolted her back to reality.

"Being a fighter pilot isn't going to be easy."

She placed her helmet in the crux of her arm before walking back to the locker rooms. Edge found herself in desperate need of a shower and a hot coffee afterwards.


	6. Chapter 6

**Fighter Pilots Wanted**

I need six pilots to fill the ranks of the Twilight Squadron. All six are the rank of a First Lieutenant. All fighter pilots are male, so sorry ladies. This does not mean that female pilots are not allowed, I have a subsidiary support squadron in the wings which will need four female pilots. No wild and crazy creations please.

I need down to earth (or relatively down to earth) character creations with a small background story.

Name: uh . . . duh.

Country of Birth: Osea, Usea, Sapin, Ustio, Yuktobania, Belka, Amanti (The icy lands holding the fateful Razgriz Straits).

Age: Anywhere from 19 to 24. No younger, no older.

One or Two Personal hobbies: Only 1 or 2. Any more and it becomes too much of a burden.

Rough Physical Appearance: Taller, shorter, fair or dark skinned, eye color, and hair color.

Basic Personality: Self Explanatory.

And Finally . . . Flying style: An aggressive or passive supporter? A headhunter? Elegant or straight to the point? Knight, Soldier, or Mercenary Ace?

I appreciate your time and look forward toward seeing any pilots report in.

Oh, and please let me know who you are and you shall be recognized.


	7. Chapter 7

**Assault Six: Aggressors**

"We're being assigned to what?!"

Luc of the Twilight squadron's second fighter wing was struggling to keep his voice in check. Günter stood behind his office desk with several transfer papers spread out. The third and second divisions of their squadron had received new orders from central since the inaugural flight one week ago.

Alicia had been assigned the status of flight leader for the most desired of the fighter wings. The three Typhoon fighters were her flight. Kurando and Tsuki were assigned to the twin seated Mirage M and Luc was given command of the F-16 XL division. The young Captain of Epsilon Flight as the F-16 XL and F-2 had been assigned, were to be sent off to the far northeastern front at Heierlark Air Force base to act as an aggressor squadron with Alpha Flight, Alicia's fighter wing.

Kurando and Tsuki's Theta Flight were being reassigned to McNealy Air Force base to replace a single pilot who'd been transferred a week ago to Sand Island. Who that person was though was lost to them, though the Brigadier General and Major General always seemed to have a knowing smirk on their faces whenever he was brought up.

"Captain, I don't have to repeat myself, it's in your dispatch orders."

"I understand that sir, it's just . . ."

The pilot picked up a sheet of paper that had his mission details written out on them. The concept of playing the role of an aggressor squadron was appealing, but the rumors about the razzing such pilots received from flight instructors was legendary. To make matters worse, young pilots were not going to help the situation in the slightest. The chances were that the razzing would be even worse since they weren't really much older than the very trainees that they would be 'targets' for.

"Listen Luc, I know the rabble and razzing that comes with being a member of an aggressor squadron that doesn't yet have a combat rep, but you and the others in Twilight do have one."

Just as the younger man was about to ask what he meant, a knock at the door drew their attention before a voice floated through.

"Captain Lavitze reporting as ordered General."

"Enter."

The door slid open to reveal Alicia in her formal dress uniform. Unlike the rest of the bases in Osea, Fafnir was well known among the other bases as the "Ceremonial Air Base". Their uniforms were different, unique to each squadron and rank. It was almost as if their base was a circus instead of an actual state of the art combat base.

"Captain Lavitze, it's good of you to show up. Please take a seat; I have some matters to brief you and Luc on."

The woman took her seat beside the leader of Epsilon Flight. He fidgeted in his chair as Günter pulled another set of mission details from his desk. The war ace took a long look at Luc again before handing the stack of papers to the Typhoon pilot. Luc and Kyle, both pilots in the same flight, were aggressive and more than slightly reckless for their planes' specs. He'd seen too many of their kind shot down during the Belkan War over B7R.

Kyle's recklessness was to be expected of the brash fighter jock. Luc's almost vengeful flying style was more like a mercenary than a soldier, and it was out of place for a person who was always analyzing everything he read twice.

Alicia and Kim, numbers one and two of Alpha Flight respectively, matched each other quite well over their final training days under his tutelage. Despite the cemented teamwork of the two, he wanted to have them challenged by their third member. The ruckus caused by his decision was felt across the base, though he never asked Alicia her personal opinion.

"Alicia, I would like to know your personal opinion of your third wingman."

The flight lead looked up from the stack of papers in her lap with a slightly puzzled expression traversing its way across her face.

"Pardon me?"

"What's your personal evaluation of your number three?"

"Well sir, he's well educated, and exceptionally well trained as a fighter pilot for a transfer from the November City area. His credentials look good and . . ."

"Your _personal _opinions Captain."

Alicia let her shoulders slump and she released a heavy sigh before looking at her superior with an uncertain pouting face.

"Permission to speak freely?"

A small smirk crossed his face as he nodded approval. He had a good feeling what was coming, though Luc was apparently lost.

"With all due respect sir, he's a complete jerk! He doesn't talk or answer simple questions, not even if it's just a common courtesy. His hair is too unruly for military requirements and he's too composed in flight, it's like he's a flying robot."

The words flew from her mouth faster than the Typhoon she piloted was capable of going. Luc sat with his mouth slightly agape. Ghost Eagle's flight leader chuckled at her flustered face. To say that his hair was unruly was one thing, but, didn't that make his own hair also unruly?

"I know what you're saying Alicia, but there is no doubting his flight skill. 1st Lieutenant Ysionris Gavotte will be flying your number three as per my orders."

Luc cringed at the name. Alicia calmed herself before nodding. She didn't have anything against the man personally, but professionally he was an enigma now more than he ever was during their academy days. Of course, his half-Belkan blood didn't help matters, as everyone knew the enmity felt toward Belka.

While many fighter jocks in the Osean Air Defense Force despised Belkans, those born to another parent who loved a Belkan were particularly hated. Ysionris had received that and worse during the plebe year, the freshman year of the academy. Yet contrary to the popular belief, he took the jeering and down talking in stride and rarely ever made a comment, though on the rare occasion he would help out others who came under taunting. He was one of the few cadets at the coronation ceremony who didn't have family around him.

"Luc, you and Kyle have our other 'problem' pilot as the chain of command calls him."

"You mean Johnson? C'mon Commander."

The scowl that Günter gave the young Captain told him that he would not allow such complaints. Lane K. Johnson, another half-Belkan in Twilight squadron had a large surprise for the base when the assistant head of the kitchen staff at the base had been revealed to be his older half-brother Joshua J. Johnson. The two spent a fair amount of time with Gavotte, not because of their Belkan bloodlines, but that both members of the fighter wing had lost their parents and relatives just before or during the Belkan conflict.

Their flying was also considered the best of the Twilights. The Major General had mumbled something about Knight Aces during the coronation flight they had made when the two Belkans made a hard, low altitude, supersonic fly by past each other while doing a loose four point roll. Rumor had it that Günter had laughed about the superiors visiting from Central dropping their cigars at the spectacle.

"Johnson is a superb pilot Luc and I know that you know this. Belkan blood or no, he is an asset to your squadron. Unlike the two of you, he follows his orders and has a broad outlook on the battlefield while you and Kyle have a kind of tunnel vision style of flying."

"A tunnel vision style sir?"

"The kind of flying where you're so focused on the target at hand, you go blind to everything save that one object. That's fine for the attack role, but in the skies of a dogfight you have to be able to analyze the whole air zone at once. He will be your support and cover during those situations."

"Yes sir."

Luc slumped slightly, seeing the logic in the pilot's reasoning. He was trying to curb the weak points of each flight group to increase their survivability. It wasn't easy to swallow, being Usean during the war as a kid and seeing his mother abused by Belkan soldiers during the occupation of Directus, but those were grunts and Johnson seemed like a nice guy judging from how his half brother laughed with him over chow times.

"Good, I wish you all the best of fortune. I'm proud of you. Dismissed."

That was three days ago.

Right now, he was looking down at the snow and ice covered mountains of Norde Belka. Kyle, aka Gunslinger and Johnson were flying a high stack formation. The past five hours had consisted of making fake bombing runs on the base to get the nuggets on the ground used to scrambling and engaging actual moving targets.

Alicia and her Alpha flight were supposed to be in the air to replace them within the hour, so he wasn't too tired, seeing as they slept late as they weren't needed until ten in the morning.

"Control to Twilight Epsilon, you're clear for the attack run."

"Roger."

"Hey Einstein, this is getting pretty dull don't you agree?"

Luc frowned as they Immelman turned back in the direction of the base.

"What makes you say that Gunslinger?"

"After the real fight back at Fafnir and the training with Ghost Eagle Squadron, these flights are cakewalks!"

Chuckling from their third drew their attention after they completed the maneuver and began the race to the base. Luc, callsign Einstein glanced over his shoulder at the F-2 at his four o' clock.

"What's the funny part Freezer Burn?"

He grinned as he said that.

The nugget at the time had garnered the most embarrassing history for his nickname when he and Joshua were in the back of the mess hall kitchen helping the stocking when the power grid in the area fritzed and the lights had gone out. By the time the lights reactivated, someone had closed the door to the freezer they were in by accident and the automated pressure locks had gone online, locking them inside for an hour before one of the staff noticed they were gone for lunch mass.

The two family members were rushed to the medics for frostbite treatment. The situation had been embarrassing to report to superiors, but looking back on it, it was pretty humorous. One would have thought a fighter pilot would die in the skies as a blazing fireball, not as a frozen ice cube. Günter had commented on it the day he was able to get back in the skies and the name had stuck.

"Y'know, for an aggressor squadron, we can fly circles around their flight instructors and then some. No wonder Gunslinger says we're bored."

"Freezer Burn, cut the chatter."

"Yet the guys in the coffee tower are always finding ways to thaw out my fun."

Kyle laughed with Luc while the officer at the communications desk cursed under his breath at Johnson's sarcasm. The fighters could see the runway coming up on the horizon. The three Epsilon Flight members were surprised to see a trio of F-5 Tigersharks in the air already.

"Those three got into the air pretty quick. I wonder which of the nugget groups this is."

As the two trios closed in on each other, the colors of the F-5E Tiger II's were a visible amalgamation of dark orange and black stripes. The tail fin design that Luc could barely make out at the 800mph head on pass was enough to jolt his senses. The two flight groups broke formations to orient themselves into battle patterns. Johnson broke into the radio chatter.

"Surprise, surprise, it's Captain Friedrick's unit."

"The Flying Tigers aggressor squadron? Why are they up and not the nuggets?"

"Gunslinger! Cut the chatter and engage. Let's rock and roll."

"How cliché Einstein . . ."

"Stuff it Freezer Burn!"

Lane Johnson was in the last vestiges of his Immelman Turn while a hard pumping rock tune could be heard in the background just underneath his instrument panel noise. Clicking the top joystick selector switch, he began to toggle through his weapons layout panel. As the AIM-9 Sidewinder icon lit up, he let his thumb off the top on the stick and clicked the switch just to the left of the stick and lit up the leader of the rival squadron as his current combat target.

Digital onboard weaponry was the only thing equipped to the hard points and wing rails, but the physics engine was quite accurate. Sloppy piloting wouldn't help anyone get better. Satisfied with his selection for the moment, he waited for further orders from Einstein.

The flight leader of Epsilon Twilight ran a cursory glance over the flight positions and saw that their opponents were utilizing the "Fishing Pole" tactic. The formation consisted of two fighters flying a linear pattern while a third pilot flew just beyond the missile lock range as a decoy. When the decoy or "bait" was pursued, he would lower airspeed and the others, acting as the "pole", would accelerate as if reeling in the catch.

The extreme risk of the tactic required an extremely hot hand at the decoy's stick. Before the formation had received its name, it had been employed by the Belkans over the B7R airspace during the war fifteen years ago.

"Einstein, engagement orders."

Johnson had moved up to his wing as they continued onward in a spread formation. The rival aggressor squadron kept their formation as Epsilon closed the gap. Luc knew that Alpha Flight was probably watching with the nuggets on the ground.

"Gunslinger, Freezer Burn, go trail and follow. I'm going to go nibble the bait."

"No offense Captain, but just how the hell are you going to do that?"

"Freezer Burn, you and Gunslinger are more maneuverable in a dog fight. Crack the pole while snag the bait."

Kyle could be heard over the radio laughing at the idea. Essentially, they were duplicating the strategy. A mirror duel as Günter had put it during flight training.

"Understood Einstein, go and we'll cover you. Johnson, let's move."

A lone double click on the comm. was the only response from the pilot as he fell into a dual formation with Kyle. The fighters began dancing across the skies.

Down on the tarmac Alicia and Kim were sitting on a bench just outside their hangar bay doors as the nuggets watched the mock dog fight further out on the parade grounds. It looked like Luc wanted to play a mirror duel, which he was good at whenever the opportunity arose.

"Do you think he'll be able to emerge the victor Captain?"

The two women looked toward the newcomer as an older man in his early forties with a Captain's rank insignia on his flight suit. He was the only aggressor pilot at the base who could give the instructors here a run for their money. Kim saluted out of instinct as Alicia did out of respect to his seniority. Just behind him, Lieutenant Gavotte saluted his flight lead before joining them on the bench.

"Good to see you sir. I don't really know the possible outcome. I am curious as to why your group was sent up in place of a nugget squad Captain Friedrick."

Captain Frank Friedrick, formerly a Belkan fighter pilot who was shot down over Ustio territory during their Operation Crossbow. He was the first pilot with notoriety to be shot down by the now known ace: Demon Lord.

He had been twenty-eight at that time. Shortly after the war, he'd been surprised to find Cipher on his doorstep with a smile and sincere concern for his well being after the war. Through their strange, over-lunch conversation which stretched into dinner; Frank realized that the infamous Demon pilot was more human than many men across the world. He was a man who carried out his duty while still holding on to honor and dignity, valor and respect not just for allies, but enemies as well. After all, they had all been pawns to the top brass of both sides at some point during the Belkan War, all they did was carry out their duty. He smiled at the memory.

"I wanted to see just how well your superiors trained you pilots in unpredictable occurrences."

Back in the air, Luc hit his weapon toggle switch again, the wing panel lit up the mid ranged Sparrow SAAM as his HUD cursory changed to the broken dotted line circle that acted as the targeting scope for the high tech arrow. Pulling the throttle back to cut the afterburner, he settled the HUD on the Tiger as he closed the distance at a slower pace. The "ping box" as he liked to call it began ticking off its lethal chime as it tracked the fighter before blaring its death song as the box went red at the ten thousand foot marker.

'C'mon, which way are you going to jink? Left or right?'

His mind didn't even bother to register the warning bleeps that his instrument panel was giving him.

"Gunslinger, go to Matra Magic XAAM and pop two on each."

"Roger, specials going hot."

The two Tigers had begun to close the gap as they 'reeled' in Luc. The two aggressor pilots seemed to ignore the XAAM locks until Kyle flicked the safety cover beside the weapon selector for the missile launch tab and tapped it twice. The two fighters split in a hurry as the digital readouts traced two missiles on each target. Johnson broke formation in pursuit of the left fighter, so Kyle break rolled starboard to continue putting the heat on the former hunters.

Luc also tapped the missile release switch twice, sending two screaming banshees at the lone Tiger. To his dismay, the pilot pulled up and over as he began to Immelman. Glancing at his HUD altitude, he knew he was cutting it close, but he decided to take the gambit. The missile lock warnings had stopped, telling him that Gunslinger and Freezer Burn had the other two going evasive. He inverted the fighter while pulling back the throttle and pulling the stick back.

The moment his nose pointed straight down, he shoved the throttle to the red zone, activating the afterburner and piling on the G forces as he dove for the deck. Just as the altitude warning began blaring in his earpiece, he began to level off at 130 ft. as he glanced upward, looking desperately for the target. The tiger pilot was directly above him as he looked up into the belly of the aircraft. Pulling back on the stick again, he brought the Falcon attack craft to bear on the Tiger and tapped the guns trigger as the piper came up.

"Rounds out."

The fighter jinked left, but the cursory remained for a solid three seconds and the targeting reticule blared the kill status. Luc grinned

"Splash one."

Kyle flew beside the opponent's fighter he'd just 'killed' with a well timed Sidewinder QAAM and was waiting for Freezer Burn to finish up his target. The two remaining fighters weaved in and out of each other's targeting circles like crazed bees. The Tiger pilot was currently in the advantage position, or on six.

Just as the fighters aligned themselves perfectly for a guns shot, the half Belkan pilot slammed the airbrake and dropped his flaps, momentarily stalling the bird into a free fall as the Tiger shot past at 180 knots. The flaps immediately came up and the afterburner kicked in as Freezer Burn brought the nose up and called out his shot.

"Fox three, Fox three!"

A half second later, the kill sound went off as the final Tiger was "downed".

As the two squadrons formed up, Heierlark base control keyed in their landing order. The six fighters screamed in their landings and taxied to the parade lane to park for the day. All the nuggets were hooting for the winners and such a great display of flight technique. Alicia and her flight were clapping their hands at a well fought dogfight. Frank couldn't help but feel impressed. It had been sometime since his group got a beating like that. From what he could see on his men's faces, they didn't mind in the least.

To have an exhilarating dogfight instead of just training newbies was a fresh change of pace. He couldn't be happier with himself. Out of the corner of his eye, the Lieutenant Colonel of the base was approaching the tarmac.

His salute prompted Alpha Flight and the others in the area to stand and salute as well. The Lt. Col. Miller was a good man with a sensible amount of sense for a higher up. He too had fought in the Belkan War and saw Frank as an equal who only had fought for his country. The two were fast friends and were slated to be relatives soon if his younger sister married Miller's younger brother. It seemed pretty likely.

The expression on Miller's face however, was anything but friendly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your aircraft are now on combat level 3 alert and will be armed immediately. Twilight Squadron's Epsilon and Alpha flights are to prepare to sortie immediately. Yuktobania has just declared war on us."

The news drove shocked silence into all present. Gavotte yawned.

"Sorry Mr. Miller, but haven't we been allies with them for the past fifteen plus years? What happened?"

"That may be so Gavotte, but right now we need you in the air. Hewlitt Naval Base is under attack and civilians are included in the casualties. Suit up!"

Looking back at their fighters as crews began to detach the virtual weapons with the genuine article, Epsilon flight grew quiet as Alpha flight rushed to suit up. This would be their third taste of real combat. And this time, it would be official. Twilight was approaching.

**Up Next in A Blue Dove for the Princess: Hellfire Seas**

**Lane K. Johnson, and his family are the ideas of Dark Flame Lord, or SPARTAN-275.**

**Ysionris Gavotte is the idea of Bond 4154.**

**Spy-der: I must request, due to the previous two pilot submissions by the above contributors, that you change the ethnic background of the character. As grounded as the Belkans, Ustio, Usea, Osea, and Yuktobania are in the Ace Combat world, I'd like to use something fresh. Ameni, is the location of the Razgriz Straits. Sapin, is a Mexican-esque country. Erusia would be a nice twist.**

**Aquila: I thank you for the interest you have in this fic. I would be most grateful if you did submit a pilot. Using the review ability is fine. Please, however, observe my request to Spy-der above. Thank you.**

**Also, due to my lack of forethought, I need two WIZOs for Theta flight. They are the bombardier navigators and usually handle weapon ops for the aircraft while the pilot, naturally, fly the thing. Females are welcome. The same information as a pilot is also needed for the navigators.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Assault Seven: Hellfire Seas Pt. 1**

"Alpha Leader, this is Dash Two. I have no joy on the tanker."

Kim was snuggled up to Alicia as they entered the flight area they were given to meet with the tanker to air refuel. Three cherubs below, or three hundred feet below them was Epsilon Flight. Each of their fighters went buster the moment they all got airborne. Going to max power and screaming off at full speed was exhilarating, but it would still take everyone thirty minutes at full throttle to arrive over the combat area.

Dash Two, the common nickname for the number two in the formation status, was Kimberly's current position. Gavotte was trailing slightly, his fighter looked the way he felt at the moment; lazy.

"Understood Snow Queen; how about you Epsilon Leader?"

After a moment of glancing around, Luc spotted a small speck in the distance. Before he could look down at his radar to confirm IFF signatures, the radio crackled to life.

"Twilight Squadron, this is Texaco Milky 1. Our apologies for the delay; we had a kick the tires and start the fires situation."

All fighter pilots went alert at the phrase. That statement usually didn't occur unless it was a scramble order like what they had received. The fighters began to reorient themselves toward the tanker. The six aircraft began their approaches to the KC-10 as it extended two of its refueling nets from their wing pods.

"Milky 1, this is Epsilon Flight leader Einstein, our noses are cold and we're ready to go."

"Roger Einstein, Epsilon 1 please proceed to the fueling boom. 2 and 3 make way to the nets to pass gas please."

A low chuckling came over the radio.

"He said, 'pass gas'. That's still one I'll never get over."

Everyone groaned at Johnson's joking. Alpha flight took up escort formation around the tanker and three refueling aircraft. With noses cold, the F-16 and F-2s would have no radar until refueling was complete. Three long minutes passed until Einstein and the others pulled away from their stations and broke away from the tanker. It would take considerably longer for Alicia and her group to refuel as they would have to take turns refueling.

"This is Milky 1. Alpha Leader, you may proceed with refuel procedures."

"Roger Milky 1. Alpha Leader going cold nosed."

She flicked the radar off as she began to align her fighter with the refueling boom. Her sensors and the better half of her readouts went dead as the boom closed with her fighter. Her thoughts went to the mission objective as the fuel began to restock her plane's tanks. Keying her radio switch, she opened her frequency with Luc.

"Einstein, go on ahead to the target area, we'll catch up the moment we finish here."

"Blue Dove, what are you talking about?"

"I'm telling you to go ahead to Hewlett Naval Base. I know that all of us arriving at the same time with help drastically, but we may not make it in time as a single unit."

"It's only six minutes before all of your flight is ready to go."

"Six minutes may be too late Einstein. Please, go, they need help now, not in six minutes. Go!!"

Silence reigned over the area at the possible scenario she had just painted. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but she was right. Six minutes of combat was a long, long time. Normally, squadrons who were refueling waited until everyone was ready before departing the refueling zone, but this wasn't a transit flight. This was a combat scramble mission where every second counted. Luc grit his teeth.

"Understood Blue Dove. Gunslinger, Freezer Burn; buster now! Let's get to the port on the double. Twilight Alpha, we'll see you there! Try not to miss the party."

Alicia grinned as the Falcons threw themselves into full afterburner and raced off into the distance. Little did she know that three Fighting Falcons were already over the combat zone.

(Hewlitt Naval Base)

Smoke rose from the bay like a sign of the apocalypse. Oddly enough, Sand Island and Heierlark were both the same distance to the naval installation. Preparing to enter the fray, Wardog squadron argued with their AWACS.

"2nd Lieutenant Nagase, insubordination is grounds for a court martial; follow your orders!"

"Negate that Thunderhead, this is Captain Patrick, callsign Blaze. I have squadron control in place of Heartbreak One. Is this acceptable?"

"She was diverting to a Captain? Why weren't we informed of this transfer?"

"That doesn't matter Thunderhead! Do you find this acceptable?"

"Understood."

"It's about time you guys quit arguing! Keep that up and these bastards will eat you alive!"

A Tomcat roared by their formation as Blaze took up the lead position. Chopper's sarcastic joke didn't register as the son of Galm analyzed the immediate area. He could see ships all over the harbor trying to get out. Smoke billowed from some and others where in their death throws.

"This is the AA Cruiser Excalibur, boat ahead of us you have to move away. We can't use our SPY radar."

"Boat?"

Chopper's question came over the frequency and Nagase didn't know the answer.

"Boat is the naval term for any and all sea going vessels Chopper. Enough of the chit chat. Thunderhead; requesting permission to engage."

"Permission granted Wardog Squadron."

Blaze gunned the throttle to the red zone as his afterburner kicked in. Chopper and Edge punched the afterburners to keep up with him. The events of an hour ago were still swimming around in her mind. At Captain Patrick's insisting combined with Barlett's nagging, the Emperor gave in and ordered new aircraft for the squadron before the drones had arrived.

The F-16 C's weren't as agile as Blaze's Block 60, but they were a substantial improvement over the Tigers. She only hoped that Bartlett was alright at base. He'd probably give her the lecture of her life when they got back. At the moment through she was concentrating on keeping her other Captain from the same fate. After the squadron confirmed their engagement status, she noticed Blaze gunning for the first pair of targets in their vicinity. A-6 Intruders were beginning their attack runs on the harbor.

"Edge, Chopper; AIM-120 usage is prohibited. Go for guns. Winders are a go."

"Roger Blaze, AMRAAMS prohibited. Sidewinders are hot."

"Understood Blaze. I have trail and follow."

A double click on the receiver acknowledged her position as he drove the Block 60 toward the two attack aircraft. She still couldn't believe just how advanced the B60 version of the Falcon was to her Block 25. More importantly, she found his ability at the stick even more unbelievable. The fighter jock maneuvered the bird of prey into a hard slicing pass that made both slower planes fall into the 20mm rotational cannon's line of fire. The three second burst took down both fighters in one pass as they shot by.

"Hey, did you see that? Someone took two in a single pass!"

"Shut up and focus! We'll never get out of here if you just stare at the sky!"

The three Falcons zoomed across the harbor as several more A-6 Intruders made their way into the bay area. Blaze spotted the F-14 that roared pass them earlier spear two bandits with a pair of AAXM Phoenix missiles before diving for the deck as two Fulcrums began to mark him. Peeling off formation in order to follow through with support, Blaze clicked his radio switch on the throttle's left side.

"Edge, Chopper; disperse and engage at will. I'm flying cover for Captain Snow for a moment."

The two wingmen flinched at the order. Blaze dove in on the two Migs as the two Wardog pilots began to break formation to engage targets at their own discretion. Edge grit her teeth as she double clicked the receiver switch on the throttle.

The HOTAS, or Hands on Throttle and Stick of the Falcons were a huge asset to a single seat fighter of any caliber. The ability to have literally everything on the throttle and stick and not have to touch anything on the instrument panel cut action times down to nanoseconds as finger flicks did everything. The only button on that panel that needed to be pressed was the eject switch. She prayed that she'd never have to hit that one.

"Nagase, are you sure that we should split formation? This is our first air battle of any significant size. I mean, yeah, Kid's got the experience from what we've seen in the past, but we don't."

"He's trusting us by giving us that order Chopper. I don't think he'd give that one if he didn't think we could handle ourselves."

"You've got a point. Alright, let's rock!"

The two fighters broke away from each other, targets selected from their radar positions. Snow began to dive for the deck as he wove the interceptor class fighter back and forth. The Mig pilots banked in on the fighter in tandem, the leader closing in as the other play marker for any evasive maneuver that Snow could pull off. His flight lead would have lost the unit several times if he hadn't played shepherd dog and herded the Tomcat back into his lead's sights.

"Well, well, the Tomcat pilot's got skill; but I've almost got you . . . c'mon, c'mon . . ."

Just as the targeting sensor flashed solid red, the missile lock warning beacon began ringing. The Fulcrum's wingman's transmissions also indicated he was locked as well. The pilot silently cursed the Mig 29's only substantial weakness; its horrible early warning and long range radar abilities.  
Sure, the Fulcrum was designed to be a close quarter's dog fight supremacy fighter, but it had to get within range first.

Flankers and Strike Flankers were normally escorts and long range threat detectors among the squadrons. Today's mission didn't have the superior long range striker among their numbers, which made many of them easy picking against the lethal Tomcat interceptor and F-15 Eagle air superiority fighter of Osea.

As the Yuke was about to squeeze the missile launch trigger before breaking when an ear piercing wail filled all the cockpit channels across the furball as the fighter's missile lock warning turned into a missile launch warning. Hands froze as the Fulcrum ace looked to the radar to see one missile tracker turn into six individual signatures before jerking the stick back and dropping flaps.

Edge had downed an Intruder that had begun to get too close to the Kestrel when the soul shattering wail reached her ears as she gained altitude after passing the carrier. The two Migs that Blaze had gone in pursuit of were putting up evasive maneuvers as two AIM 120 Sparrows flew out from their pylons. The missiles split just as they closed in on the three hundred foot range marker.

"Was that really Blaze wailing like that?"

Chopper was flying top cover after removing a high altitude Talon scout fighter when the battle cry sounded from the young ace.

"Forget that, what kind of missiles are those?! Those aren't Sparrows."

The split projectiles went from one on each bandit to six on each as the main shaft of the original weapon fell away and divided into their literally multi warhead layouts. The trailing bandit bought the farm and all the land around it as the missiles ripped into his plane. The pilot didn't have a chance to scream as the steel bird went up in a bright orange fireball.

The other Fulcrum shocked its observers as the missiles closed in on the fighter. At the last moment, the fighter stalled while pulling its nose up and over, facing Blaze while inverted, the fighter loosed a missile back at the son of Galm before completing the maneuver and skimmed the water as he speed off. All six missiles from Blaze's shot zoomed pass the fighter where it originally had been before its loss of altitude. The pilot swerved out of the way of the incoming missile and made a double take of the Fulcrum.

"What the hell was that?! None of our fighters can do that!"

"Blaze are you okay?"

Blaze glared at the fighter as it climbed back up to standard combat altitude. The paint scheme was a sharp cherry red with navy blue highlights and a set of white lightning bolts down either side of the fuselage.

"Yeah Edge, I'm fine, but that pilot's incredible."

"Bravo Zulu Wardog Lead; thanks for the assist."

"No problem."

Pulling his own fighter up to re-engage the Fulcrum, his mind began to race at the challenge. He'd heard of pilots like these from his uncle, but to see that maneuver done in real combat was just as much of a privilege as it was terrifying. He didn't want to lose his mission objective either, though. Toggling the radio keys, he hailed his squadron. He muttered under his breath before switching to the 20mm rotational cannon.

"A Culbit back flip eh? Impressive, very impressive."

On the horizon, three members from Twilight squadron soared into the combat area.

"Einstein, heads up on the battle zone, we've got a hotshot at the stick of that Yuke."

"I saw him Gunslinger. Freezerburn, do you think you can take him?"

The number three of Epsilon flight shook his head as he bashed the radio. The reception was being disrupted; and he knew just what the reason was. Regardless, he voiced his answer anyway.

"Negative Flight Lead, I'm good, but not quite suicidal like Daydreamer back with Alpha Flight. Do I need to mention we're in attack aircraft and not air superiority craft? I'd get eaten alive by that pilot."

"You af . . . . . . f . . . . ng?"

"Shoot yourself Gunslinger . . . shoot yourself."

The newcomers to the battle zone tried to radio in their arrival to no avail. Checking radars, they saw brief radar blips winking in and out of sight, confirming their fears. The radios jammed and radars useless, the three knew from training what it meant. The members of Epsilon Twilight broke formation without a word in search for their primary objective; find and destroy the AE-6B Prowlers lurking among the slew of Intruders that were swarming the base. The sooner radars and communications could be reestablished, the better off Osean Carrier Kestrel would be.

Nicknamed by Gunslinger as the "Flying Mini Van" because of the crew number, the Prowler was the sister aircraft to the side-by-side two seat Intruder. The Prowler sported four crewmen in a set up not much different than a civilian car. The pilot sat on the left and the bombardier navigator in the right. Just behind him sat the electronic warfare tech and to that man's left sat the other ECM/ECCM officer. Gunslinger's observation during one flight with them had stuck as their flying continued. Finding them among all the Intruders was not going to be fun.

The first jammer aircraft was on low altitude ingress with two of its sister craft when Gunslinger pulled into attack position. The aircraft began to jink and swerve in evasive maneuvers to distract him, but his 'tunnel vision flying began to take place. Only the Prowler was his concern as his eyes tracked its sudden climb in altitude. Keeping only a hint of situational awareness, the Twilight pilot pulled the Falcon variant into gun range and sent off a slew of 20mm slugs.

The molten projectiles slammed into the wings of the bird, igniting the jet fuel stored within as they erupted with a brilliant flash. The wingless avian dropped like a rock as four ejection seats rocketed from the cockpit. Sensors and radar signatures instantly reappeared; the laid back ace found that development intriguing.

'They've split the ECM duties up among each fighter? What's the point? We just regained radar with that kill.'

The fighter glanced over the battle field looking for another Prowler when communications came back online after an explosion on the other side of the bay caught his eye.

"Splash one. Calling AWACS, this is Twilight Epsilon Flight Leader Einstein; give us a new vector assignment. Last Prowler will be down in a moment."

"Roger Epsilon. This is Thunderhead; we appreciate the timing. New Vector 080, a group of fighter bombers."

"Roger, Thunderhead. Gunslinger, you and me, Freezerburn will be with us shortly."

"Wilco."

"This is the Kestrel, three miles to bay exit."

The final HUD readings came back online as the final Prowler fell from the skies. Both the Twilight pilots switched back over to Sidewinders as their missile lock systems came back online. All the pilots began firing off missiles as their offensive abilities reactivated amidst mild cursing from the Yuke fighters.

Freezerburn began to hunt down his next target when the Mig ace shot past the nose of his craft followed shortly by the F-16 Block 60 of Blaze. The two fighter jocks soared across the bay skies; vying to gain the upper hand as they waltzed.

The fighters began pulling Gs that would knock most pilots unconscious as they fought for the advantage.

Epsilon flight began scouring the area directly around the Kestrel as Wardog fought off the majority of the attack craft. Fires scattered across the bay accompanied by the sounds of death and killing over the radios sent the image of hades through the pilots' minds.

War is hell.

**My apologies for the terribly late update, I've been working on multiple chapters, scattered amongst multiple fics. My next update will be after Wolves of War: Gundam Seed's chapter 3, followed by my Armored Core fic. Until then . . . R&R.**

"You afraid of dying?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Assault 8: Hellfire Seas Pt. 2**

**_Fafnir Airbase_**

"What do you think of the fighter Commander?"

"I only hope its fully operational before things get anymore out of hand."

Reis Gunter stood before an elegant, sleek aircraft unlike any other ever made in the history of aerodynamic engineering. The aerial weapon had a unique twin cockpit design back to back. Part of the design was made around the Su 37 with the elevated nose and rough wing structure, but that was where the similarity ended. The twin seat fighter's two separate cockpits were unusual, but necessary due to the complicated cybernetics the aircraft employed.

The primary role of the machine was actually recon, but the outstanding features and performances of its flight tests were too good to limit it to just that role alone. The Brigadier General smiled lightly as he ran a hand along the nose of the fuselage. Looking into the forward cockpit, the controls were beyond anything seen in generation five aircraft. It made the F-22 Raptor look basic and primitive.

"What are the specs for her?"

The technician accompanying the inspecting wing commander of the Ghost Eagles cleared his throat and grinned as he explained.

"The FFR-31 MR/D is a twin seat tandem separated cockpit recon fighter measuring 22.2 meters long with a wingspan of 14.65 meters. The static height of the plane is 5.65 meters, though with the Tactical Airborne Reconnaissance Pod System (TARPS) element sensor blade fully extended in flight it changes the measurement to 11.94 meters tall."

Gunter nodded as he took in the information. It was an unusually large aircraft, but a beautiful one to look at just on the ground, he couldn't wait to see the fighter in the air where it belonged.

"The standard take off weight is 11,706 kilograms with a recon equipment weight of 23,700 kilograms. It has a maximum take off weight of 35,272 kilograms."

Gunter jolted in shock at the numbers. The plane was longer and broader in wingspan than the F-15 Eagle, barely shorter by less than a foot and yet held more than the max load of the Eagle. The older plane had a max load of 30,600 Kg. He swallowed tentatively as the tech continued to rattle off its stats.

"The power plants are FNX-5011-B/C Mk. XI turbofan engines."

"Hold on a second, I thought the Osean Defense Force budget limitations set by President Harling scrapped that project. You're telling me that the engines are past the production stage?"

Taken back by the sudden interruption, the tech fumbled with his words.

"Well, yes, it is. If it's any news to you sir, the D-20 Phoenix variation is also in its final stages of development."

Reis' jaw fell open. This was a super fighter if he'd ever seen one. The addition of the more powerful variation of the FNX-5011 was incomprehensible to him. The ace fell back against the fuselage, dead to the world. This fighter was vicious.

**Meanwhile in the skies above the Osean Naval Vessel Kestrel**

Einstein, Freezerburn, and Gunslinger soared past the chugging carrier out toward the waiting Yuktobanian fleet. The three attack aircraft locked onto the enemy carrier at the center of the enemy formation of ships.

"Think you guys can sink her in the first pass?"

Double clicks came from both of them as Wardog squadron zoomed overhead, still engaging any air targets trying to vie for a shot on either them or the Kestrell. Captain Snow was taking pot shots at the incoming long-range bombers to lethal effect.

"Yeah, I think so. Ready when you are."

The three planes rolled in on their attack run lines as AA fire glowed with tracers as the ship board defenses tried to pluck them from the air. Thatch weaves; variations in altitude, and even shadow flying put the gunners into a frenzy of sporadic molten shelling. Range counters steadily counted down by the milliseconds . . .

25,667 . . . 25,500 and one cruiser passed under them while spitting fire up into the skies. Gunslinger and Freezerburn banked into knife-edge flight, saving them from being pierced by anti-air guns. The counters wound down more; . . . 25,380 . . . 25,000 . . . the cursors went solid red; the heavy, yet high pitch hard tone rang in the three mens' ears.

As one, the three fighters sent LASM missiles rocketing from their railings. Six lethal rocket propelled arrows of explosive violence raced hungrily toward the carrier. The three pilots had to admit this was a bit of revenge for the naval personnel lost that day.

Six missiles ran the gauntlet of 35mm Phalanx CIWS self-autonomous ship defense fire, the deadly countermeasure slung out lethal tungsten sabot rounds at a brutal 3,000 rounds per minute. The only backlash was that such units only held 1,550 rounds at most per drum magazine. Short bursts kept the magazine from having to be changed continuously during prolonged engagements.

This combined with 50 cal. Anti-air guns and others assorted surface to air defenses made sea combat vicious. Four of the six missiles detonated before ever reaching their target destination. The two that did make were all that were needed when Freezerburn's surviving strike landed in the con tower of the bridge. The secondaries blew the whole bridge to pieces, rendering mass panic among the fleet as the second missile to reach its finish line rammed into the aft side hangars, detonating the reserve munitions for Yuktobanian naval planes.

The following explosion rocked the seas and skies with a massive shockwave. The fireballs that erupted from the deck and bowels of the vessel caused two of the destroyers closest to the dying ship to back off their assault. The rest of the vessels began to focus on the three Falcon variants as they climbed for altitude.

Warning alarms cried their shrill screams as ship launched SAMs were deployed. The Falcons banked and arced while dropping strings of flares and clouds of chaff. At one point, the three fighters criss-crossed and the missile pursuers rammed into each other, ending their worries until the Yuke fighters joined in the fray. A whistle of awe was heard over the communication lines.

"When did you guys learn that one Epsilon?"

"Alpha Flight! Damn, we were beginning to think you'd miss the action. That'd be a little embarrassing. Can you get these flies off of us? We're Whinchester missiles."

"Roger Epsilon. Who's our AWACs?"

"Twilight Alpha we have you on radar, provide air support for the Kestrel and obtain air superiority."

"Roger, Ice Queen and Daydreamer . . . we're the top cover. Disperse and engage at will, IRIS-T AMRAAMs are go."

"Roger Blue Dove."

The IRIS-T, a missile developed as an improvement over the standard Sidewinder missile for close up combat and the project was labeled the AIM-9X. IRIS-T or Infra Red Imaging System Tail/Thrust Vector Controlled was an unmitigated success, with a longer head-to-head range than the sidewinder yet operated on the capability of a QAAM, being able to smash targets at the pilot's six. Its heat seeking capability was a league above the Sidewinder and the head-to-head range was about 5 to 8 times that of the standard AMRAAM. It was a frightening weapon.

"What about the BVRAAM Meteor?"

"Try not to, but I won't stop you."

The laidback fighter jock double clicked before peeling off to engage incoming aircraft that were gunning for Freezerburn in an attempt to get some payback for sinking their home ship. Warning beeps signaled a tracking enemy at his six.

Glancing at his rearview mirror, he could make out the fuselage of a Gr. 4 Tornado. He smiled as his HUD beeped solid indicating a lock on another Tornado in front of him. Freezerburn was living up to his call sign, staying frosty despite the heat on his tail.

"Target one A on 12, and one B at six for Freezerburn."

The systems in his cockpit responded to the voice command, designating his forward target to his IRIS-T and sending Freezerburn the data on the fighter on his own six. The F-2A pulled into a high G loop immediately after the verbal command was issued. The squadron had worked on this ever since the group had gotten into the Typhoons.

Eurofighter Typhoons had one unique aspect, and that was a non-critical function voice command and recognition program that required the pilot to create a custom template for his personal aircraft. Targeting data could be shared, changed, and analyzed via voice commands rather than physically hitting switches, the amount of workload it relieved the pilot of was simply amazing.

No sooner did he begin the maneuver, than Daydreamer launched his IRIS-T. The Tornado broke contact with the F-2A in an attempt to get away, but the missile followed relentlessly. Watching the missile ignore flares and detonate in the tailpipe of his target, he glanced about when the Tornado behind him suddenly went up in flames as Freezerburn pulled up just in front of him and waggle his wings.

"Man I love that Direct Voice Input system you guys have. It makes this so much easier."

A flash in the distance accompanied by the sounds of cheering and cries of victory drew their attention as a brightly colored Mig going down in flames had a Falcon B60 doing a victory roll out of a gripping 9G turn.

"Woah! He took him out!"

The Wardog F-16s formed up and began sweeping up the remains of the forces with bombing runs on the remaining Yuke fleet. Alpha flight had seen glimpses of that heated battle as they'd joined the combat zone. The flying reminded them of the stories of the Ghost Eagle pilots. The B60 had been pushing its limits to match the unusually agile Mig 29. Seeing him victorious was a huge boost to morale for the Sand Island Detachment.

"Looks like he's got the skills to go with his instincts. Its nice knowing that we're not the only experienced ones on the battlefront today . . . right Johnson?"

"Right Gavotte."

"Give me map layout beta."

The map monitor zoomed out to a longer-range scan of the area. Seeing no more long-range incoming craft, he ordered the info relayed to Thunderhead and all the surrounding allied forces. The AWACS confirmed his scans and the surviving forces of the surprise attack converged on the last remnants of the enemy forces to push through.

The finishing rush had taken a minimal amount of time and the squadrons began to form up after the battle.

"1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 1 . . . 2. . . 3 . . . 3 planes, count'em up guys! We're all going home today, wait until Bartlett hears this, he'll crap his pants!"

"Somehow Chopper, I doubt that, but I'm sure he'll be pleased."

"Blaze, what's up?"

"It's those Typhoons. I didn't know we had any station so close."

The Twilight squadron flew a mere twenty meters away, the six jets in a double delta formation. Blaze's channel opened up.

"Wardog Leader, this is Twilight Alpha Leader Blue Dove, we are beyond bingo fuel. Request permission for an escort to Sand Island for resupply."

The three pilots were shocked. She sounded so young for a flight lead, much less a leader of a flight of Typhoons. Blaze was about to ask her why they couldn't get a tanker to them, but he decided against it. They'd probably already requested one and were denied.

"This is Wardog Leader Blaze, understood, is it just your Typhoons, or are the F-16 variants also a part of the group?"

"They are Blaze, our final flight is currently stationed at McNealy. That was some impressive flying by the way. I mean that for all of you."

"Thanks Blue Dove, I think we can manage it. Form up on us."

The flight of fighters and attackers formed on either side of the Wardog Squadron. The sight was impressive.

"I'll give ya some warning guys, the base commander's an ass!"

The cluster of pilots laughed out loud at Chopper's warning. It seemed both squadrons had their fair share of that at some point in time.

"Thanks for the warning, buddy. I'm Lane K. Johnson, call sign Freezerburn, just don't ask."

A chorus of chuckles seeped through the mics of the other Twilight members.

"Well, he's Motormouth Chopper so I think you'll fit right in."

Davenport glared at his flight lead.

"HEY!"

The laughter grew greater and greater over the flight back to Sand Island.

_**Fafnir Air Base**_

"Commander Gunter . . . Commander are you alright? You passed out for a minute there. The tech you were talking to freaked out."

"Vincent? That you?"

An abbreviated nod was the only answer the ace got as he glanced back at the fighter he was going over. Placing his hand on the closed cockpit canopy, the systems inside flashed gently before a message typed itself across its HUD.

_Good to meet you Brig. General Gunter and Lt. Col. Vincent_

The two aces stared wide-eyed.

"This plane is self aware?! Is this some kind of joke?"

**Next on A Blue Dove for the Princess: Unknown Factor**

**Lane K. Johnson, and his family are the ideas of Dark Flame Lord, or SPARTAN-275.**

**Ysionris Gavotte is the idea of Bond 4154.**

**Those who have submitted pilots, they'll appear in a few chapters. Thank you for the reviews and I'm sorry for the Year long wait.**

**Sudentor, my Gundam Seed fic has about eight or ten chapters done, but they're all roughs and I just haven't had the energy to edit y'know They should be up before long though.**

**For all my fans, two friends of mine were stationed in Iraq this past year, one was a Marine and the other was an Army Chopper gunship pilot. I have unfortunately, had to attend both of their funerals this past year. The depression I have felt has weighed down any inspirations as of late.**

**However, in their memory, this fic shall be completed. Both of them were always big fans of the Ace Combat series. Please say a prayer for their families; my friend's wife is now a widow with a two-year-old girl. Several of my associates are trying to help her financially, but with gas rising and the economy worsening, I fear for her and the child.**

**Please give respects to your military servicemen and women; they risk their lives so that we may enjoy these freedoms of speech and safety. God bless.**


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